


Ride a White Horse

by st_aurafina



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Charles is a Companion, F/F, Gen, Telepathic Bond, Valdemar fusion, mindbond, sparkly telepathic ponies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Mindspeaking as powerful as his, the safest place for Xavier was Companion's Field, where he's lived all his life alongside his only friend, Raven the Changechild. Erik is determined to stop Schmidt, Ancar's mage, from ever harming another child; he has no time to nurse a shaky Mindbond with a Companion of Valdemar. And Raven wants Xavier to find his Chosen, but cannot allow him to face danger alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride a White Horse

**Author's Note:**

> In Valdemar's timeline, this fic is set in the aftermath of the war with Ancar. 
> 
> Fanmix by afrocurl, find it [here](http://afrocurl.livejournal.com/652076.html). 
> 
> Thank you to lorax for an initial and early read-through, and to lilacsigil for beta reading. Thank you also to afrocurl, who was fantastic fun to work with, and a great mod to boot.

The villagers knew the soldiers were coming: the pillars of smoke on the horizon and the rain of ash on the stubbled fields heralded their arrival. Many people planned to flee, though where they would run to Erik couldn't guess. Hardorn was in chaos: thrashed by storms, stripped of her resources as King Ancar's troops systematically razed village after village, taking livestock, men and iron to further the fight against Valdemar.

And children. Mage-corps travelled with the troops, it was rumoured, and they scoured villages for youngsters with mage talent. Whatever was intended for them turned the soldiers pale, even as they tied the children and slung them into cages. 

Everyone in the village knew how Goodman Kohl's ploughshare was warped the winter Erik was fevered, or how Erik was the one to call when the rope holding the iron-clad well bucket had rotted through. It wasn't mage talent, as far as anyone was concerned, it was just a handy skill that made life a little easier, the same as the weather-readers or animal whisperers. 

They'd always lived in the village – Erik regarded the children he grew up with as cousins, their parents as uncles and aunts. When the smoke came, half the glances from those people were pitying, and half were calculating. It would only take one person desperate to save their family to hand Erik to the oncoming army in exchange for safe passage. Erik's mother kept him close these days.

The smoke in the air tinted the sunset bloody, and Erik could taste ash in the back of his throat as he crammed bread and meat into his mouth. While he ate, his parents gathered supplies: beans, flour, the last of the smoked goods, the length of wool cloth his mother had been meaning to sew into a cloak for Erik since he had shot up in height. 

Erik watched his parents silently as he finished his meal. There was a quiet desperation in their movements, in the wordless decisions to take this, or leave that. He didn't understand how they could outrun the army with just a barrow pulled by his father. The expression on his mother's face was enough for him to swallow that question unasked. 

He wanted to help them pack, so they could all leave as soon as possible, but his mother sent him to bed. 

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, before he climbed the ladder to the loft. "Sleep well, and don't worry. We will find a way. We'll be out of the village in the morning, long before the army arrives, and nobody will have to even think about… hard decisions." Her mouth was iron-straight as she spoke. 

Erik nodded, and ducked his head under the blankets. He willed himself to sleep. If he was well rested, then he would be strong in the morning and could take his turn pulling the barrow. 

He woke to a soft tap-tap-tap at the door to their cottage. Peering down from the loft, he watched his father take the carving knife from the wooden block beside the fireplace, and open the door a crack. 

"Goodman Lehnsherr," said a man's voice, silken and sure. "I have heard you are frightened for your son, little Erik. If we may talk, I can offer a solution." 

I'm not little, Erik thought to himself, grimly, from under his blankets. And I'm not a problem that needs solving. 

His name was Klaus Schmidt, and he dressed as a priest, in clean, dark robes tied with a rope belt. His manner was quiet and confident, and his accent city-crisp. "I am a teacher," he said, standing by the fire with steam rising from his robes. "I am willing to protect your son, and offer him an education. I know how precious he is to you. Children such as Erik are precious to me, too." 

Erik's stomach squirmed unhappily. He was angry that his father was listening carefully to Schmidt. They were not country bumpkins: they knew the kind of predator that asked solicitous questions about children. There was nothing trustworthy about this man. If Schmidt were truly interested in their welfare, he'd take them all to safety. Surely his parents could see that? 

When Erik's mother turned her face up to the loft, he saw that she understood completely. Fear and helplessness clawed at him, and the long iron nails in the rafters groaned.

Schmidt smiled and held his hand out towards the loft. "Come along, Erik. We have a long journey ahead of us."  
\---

Xavier whisked his tail irritably as he walked, trying to shift the gnats off his skin. This corner of Companion's Field was pleasantly solitary, but it was made so by a patch of marshy ground and by the run-off from the saleyards at the south end of the city. Both factors contributed to a rather noisome atmosphere, which meant that other Companions rarely ventured this close to the southern perimeter. 

The isolation gave him space to think and a chance to recover from the ordeal of mixing too closely with the rest of his year mates. It was an unpleasant thing to go too close to the Collegium, but with enough mental shielding and a senior Companion hovering to support him if his shields faltered, it could be managed. If he could bear the contact, he did so enjoy being groomed, and to have a hot breakfast, even if it left him with a thumping headache. On the days that this had been possible, he usually sought out this quiet corner of the field by mid-morning. It was best for everyone if he left before the Heralds-in-training poured into the stables. 

It wasn't all bad: in compensation for the mud that sucked at his hooves and the clouds of gnats, there was a copse of ancient apple trees over the next hill, gnarled and twisted with age and lack of cultivation. On any other patch of land, the fruit from these trees would be crabbed and sour, but everything thrived in Companion's Field and the trees grew sprays of sweet and tiny fruit. 

He picked his way carefully across a patch of soft ground. If he concentrated hard enough on the placement of each hoof, he wouldn't stretch his mind across the breadth of Companion's Field, where his year mates were gathered. They were training, pretending with all the gravitas they could muster that the idea of a saddle on one's back was not at all startling. 

By rights, he should be down there too, acclimating himself to the idea of a rider, preparing himself for the time when he would Choose a Herald of his own. It was impossible, of course. Xavier agreed with Rolan and the senior Companions when they suggested he wait a year or two before beginning his own training. His abilities with Mindspeaking were powerful – too powerful to be comfortably close to anyone for long – and the idea that he might hurt one of the students, someone's Chosen…

It didn't bear thinking about. This end of the Field was the best place for him. It was just terribly lonely, sometimes. Xavier shook his head and neck with a snort, then snapped into a brisk trot. There had been a strong wind last night, it should have thrown plenty of apples to the ground.

Moving at an easy canter over the low hill that shielded the southern corner of the field from the rest of the Collegium, Xavier felt a thought pattern brush gently against his mind. He stopped abruptly, hooves cutting into the turf. There was someone standing in an apple tree – a man, feet braced on the lower branches, arms stretched out long for the fruit higher up. 

Xavier started. The gardeners never came into the Field unless they were requested by the Companions, to clear fallen trees or otherwise help with maintenance that was beyond the scope of four-legged creatures. If this were the case, Rolan would have ordered Xavier to stay far away from this area: the risk of him hurting someone with his Mindspeaking was too great. 

He snorted in alarm, his ears pricked and his muscles tensing. The man must be an intruder. And he had no idea what to do about it. He daren't Mindspeak anyone, not with the Heralds-in-training in the Field. At a gallop, he could be back at the stables in half a candlemark, and someone safer could investigate the problem for him. That would mean leaving this man here, unattended. 

The idea of ceding this place – his place! – galvanised him. He was dangerous in more ways than one, after all. He may not be able to use Mindspeech safely, but he was a great big four-legged animal, and this was just one man. In his apple tree. Sides heaving, nostrils huge and red, he issued a trumpeting challenge to the intruder. Then, instinct-driven, he reared, pawing wildly at the sky in fury. In the back of his mind, he imagined it to be quite the spectacle. 

The man jumped, dropped an armful of apples, but maintained his hold on the trunk of the tree. He pulled his cap from his head, and sketched a clumsy bow from his perch in the tree. Everyone in Haven knew that Companions were as able to understand speech as well as any other citizen. "Beg your pardon, Sir. I've been ordered here by the Queen herself! You know how it is, Sir. Queen wants apples, you go get apples." 

How patently absurd. As if Queen Selenay didn't have a hundred well-tended cultivars from which the gardeners coaxed fruit of all kinds for the Royal table. Xavier shook his head and pranced in agitation. What was going on? He ached to read the man's thoughts, to determine if he posed an actual threat, or was simply some kind of madman. Or perhaps, Xavier posited, he was just there to steal apples. 

The man must have been thinking something similar, and it pulled them together. Two notes in harmony, Xavier's mind slid into that of the man. 

Hunger was the overwhelming sensation, here, hunger and a fierce determination to survive. Xavier held his mind still, hoping to minimise the damage this mental connection was doing to the man. In the stillness, though, he couldn't help but see that this person was neither an adult nor male. 

:NO NO NO!: The child's Mindvoice was shrill and sharp and it pushed at Xavier's, hard and resistant, a stone under the hoof. The shock was enough to shift Xavier out of his frightened stasis. He pulled his thoughts back – gently, so gently – until their minds were two separate entities again. 

The man's body slipped and shifted, the features sliding into that of a child with blue skin and bright red hair. She sat down on the branch abruptly, as if her legs were shaky. Xavier understood the sentiment: he wasn't entirely sure where all four of his own legs were right now, either. 

He ventured a tentative thought forward, soft as a feather floating to earth. :Child, are you hurt?:

The girl – she could only be a Changechild, though how she got this deep into Haven was a mystery – shook her head. "That felt funny, and my head is all woolly, but it doesn't hurt." 

Xavier shook himself all over in relief, and the girl giggled at him. "Your hair is all messed up now." 

:It's not hair. It's my mane.: Xavier was feeling braver with Mindspeech, now that he had a better idea of the resilience of her mind. He tossed his head, trying to shift his forelock back into a more dignified position. :Why are you here, child?: He tried to infuse the thought with the solemnity that befitted a Companion.

"Let me." The girl slipped from her perch, and padded softly over the mud in her bare feet. She reached a hand out slowly, and brushed the long white strands into some order, lifting them away from Xavier's eyes and straightening them. "Don't pretend to be a grown-up. I can see you're just a young horse." 

Xavier wanted to protest – Companions weren't at all the same as horses – but the girl kept stroking his face long after his forelock was tidy, and it felt so very nice. It was strange to not be regarded with wariness. :You're not scared of me?: 

"You're not scared of me, either," said the girl. "I don't mind if you talk inside my head, if I don't have to run away." 

Her stomach rumbled, and Xavier stepped back. He was terrible at estimating the age of human children, but he was sure that she was too thin for her size. :You're hungry,: he said. :You should take as many apples as you wish. You don't have to steal: He shook his head with a magnanimous flourish, upsetting the neatness of his mane again. :In fact, you never have to steal again.: 

\---

It still surprised Erik, even as an adult, that he was not challenged when he strode into the Guild Hall, but his excellent cloak and well-made boots marked him as a man of wealth. After Ancar's death, as people scrabbled for the little left in the Royal treasury, Erik found that wealthy men were welcome anywhere. 

It was not difficult to amass money when every field was littered with dead soldiers. At night, Erik called the broken swords and arrowheads to his hands, reshaping them into ingots which he cheerfully sold back to the weapons masters who had armed the soldiers in the first place. By day, he mingled with the merchants and traders who flocked to Crown City in the aftermath of the war with Valdemar. Schmidt, ever the name-dropper, boasted of the men who supported his plans for a mage-gifted army. Erik had listened, carefully memorising every name, and now he tracked them relentlessly. Each one was a rung in the ladder that would carry him back to Schmidt. 

Today, he stood patiently in the Guildmaster's office, idly twirling the iron poker while he waited for the man to return. After Ancar's death at the hands of Elspeth of Valdemar, it had not taken long for the worst of Schmidt's collaborators to come scrabbling for the throne. All of them staggered under the weight of riches looted during the war. 

The door flung open, and the Guildmaster paused on the threshold. Erik met his gaze with an open, friendly expression, and let his expensive clothes tell the rest of the story. The Guildmaster's face relaxed, and he stepped forward, hand extended to greet a potential investor. "What can I do for you, Sir?" 

Erik gave the poker a final flourish, then pointed it at the man, sighting down it. "This is excellent work, Guildmaster. I must say, I'd be very interested in meeting your Smith." 

The Guildmaster blanched at Erik's careful emphasis on the word. "Well, I – it's not local work, I believe." 

"Let's not be coy, Guildmaster." Erik opened his hand, and the poker floated effortlessly before him. He flicked his fingers in the direction of the terrified man, and the bar of metal curled lovingly around his fleshy neck. "I was shaped on the Smith's forge. And now you will tell me how to find him."

The metal noose coiled tighter, and the man's face turned livid. "Karse!" he gasped. "Schmidt fled to Karse." 

\---

Xavier wove effortlessly between the trees at a canter, bending his body and shifting his centre of weight so the branches barely brushed against them. Raven moved with him, easily balanced even without a saddle, legs long and loose at his sides. She curled one blue hand in his mane, and laughed as he changed lead with a theatrical flourish.

"Dancing horse! Let's join the circus!" Raven let go of his mane, and twirled her hands above her head. "The fabulous Raven and her dancing horse!" Her position as she rode didn't slip, and Xavier knew she would be as comfortable standing on his back as sitting. They had been friends for so long now that they knew each other's abilities very well. 

Xavier tossed his head and pranced outrageously. :Can you imagine what people would say? A Companion in the circus ring.: 

He had become much more adept with Mindspeech in the years that he had known Raven, just as she had become more competent in impersonating people and wandering the city in safety. 

Raven leaned back and rested her hands on his rump. "Maybe I should probably learn to ride with a saddle and bridle one of these days. Or I'm going to look mighty stupid if I end up on a real horse, one I can't talk to inside my head." 

:Why would you ever want to ride a horse?: Xavier walked towards the apple trees and Raven's bivouac. He had badgered a servant from the palace to pack a satchel with food this morning, and Raven was getting hungry. 

"Why would I want to ride a horse after riding you, you mean?" Raven slapped his butt. "Vanity! But I can't live in Companion's Field forever. Maybe I'll want to leave the city, see what's out there? I can do that, now that I can hold another form for ages." 

Xavier bent down to snatch a mouthful of grass while they walked. :Well, when you've finished training at the Collegium, we'll be given a circuit to ride. Probably a distant one, given the strength of my Mindspeaking.: 

"What?" Raven slid from his back and ran to stand in front of him. "What training?" 

:Herald training…?: Xavier felt a little silly. Wasn't this why they practiced every day? He finally had someone he could talk to safely, someone he trusted and loved. Surely that made Raven his Chosen?

Raven's face was carefully masked, but Xavier could feel her thoughts racing: surprise – shock, even – and a desperate need not to hurt his feelings. 

He stepped back. :I'm sorry. I thought that you wanted to be a Herald. I assumed you wanted to be my Chosen.: 

Raven sat down on the grass, cross-legged. "Maybe when I was little. But that was a long time ago, Xavier. Things are different when you're older and you have a better idea of the world. I don't think I would make a very good Herald, honestly."

:Of course you would.: Xavier twitched his tail in agitation. :Is this because you're different? I'm different, too. We've always taken care of each other.:

Raven reached up for him, and he rested his chin on her shoulder sadly. She stroked his face softly. "I've grown up around Heralds, thanks to you, and I've been safe and happy because of that. But I've seen the Chosen with their Companions. It would be strange for me. We're too much like sister and brother." She leaned back again. "Are people going to listen and respect a Changechild Herald?"

:You'd be perfect,: said Xavier. :Anyway, it shouldn't matter what you are.: 

Raven gave a rude snort. "I think it's going to matter if I can do this." She stood, and her blue skin rippled into the form of a slender woman with pale hair. She wore Herald Whites, and a golden coronet encircled her brow. 

Xavier danced in agitation. :That's Selenay! Raven, impersonating the Queen is treason! If anyone sees you, they'll throw you in a cell. Or hang you!: 

"Then isn't it obvious? Either I'm going to frighten people, or I'm going to deceive them." Raven waved a hand imperiously, and the gesture was mirror perfect. Xavier caught, with growing horror, a memory of Raven in disguise standing in the crowds at court specifically to observe Selenay's body language. 

He hung his head in despair. :You're right. It's never going to work.:

Raven let the Queen's body slip away, and threw her arms around his neck, hanging off him as she had when she was tiny. "Maybe one day, maybe if we can change the world. But there's a Herald out there for you, there must be." 

Xavier heaved a great sigh, then shook her to the ground. :You're too big to hang off me.: 

She vaulted onto his back with ease. "Then let's go for a proper run. Get all this melancholy out of our systems." 

Later, in the evening, Raven shifted into a tall, muscled woman with fair hair and slipped away into the city. Xavier traced her thought patterns all the way to a bustling inn, where she merged with a group of city guards and armsmen, and settled into a night of singing and back-thumping. He sighed. How had he not noticed her making a life outside the Field? She was not a child any longer, and he was not company enough for her anymore. 

\---

"So, he wanted you to be what? A Herald? His Herald?" Angel took another tankard from the pile and dunked it in the soapy water. "You'd think he'd never met you!" 

Raven folded her legs under her on the rough carved bench beside the washing trough and sipped her ale. "It's not that I never wanted that. I daydreamed about it when I was younger." She reached out with one hand to brush the stray lock of hair that tickled Angel's nose, since Angel was still elbow-deep in suds. Angel smiled her thanks, and took another tankard. She moved through the pile so fast; Raven had offered to help in the past, but she only got in Angel's way and slowed down the process.

"Is that how it happens, then? The Companion just asks you to come with him? From the books, I assumed something magical happens." Angel always had questions about the Companions and Heralds, about court and the Queen, about everything that wasn't the life of a tavern maid. 

"I've only seen it once," said Raven. "It's usually all over by the time the Companion makes it back to Haven, but once, when I was…" – she peered around the bustling kitchen to make sure they could not be overheard – "shifted into one of those snobby courtiers, I saw a Companion choose a pageboy. She came right into the atrium, and pushed her head against the poor little boy's head, and he went all swoony." She swigged the rest of her ale down, and added cheerfully "Then we all had honey cakes and wine to celebrate." 

Angel sighed wistfully. "I wish I could wear those faces, go wherever I wanted. It sounds wonderful." 

Raven stared and leaned in, her mouth against Angel's ear. "But you can fly!" Angel had shown her once secretly, in an empty granary. Raven marvelled at the way she soared and fluttered between the dusty beams of sunlight.

"Fly where? And live on what?" Angel shoved another handful of dirty tankards into the suds. "Takes more than that to get away from washing dishes and serving tables." 

"I thought this was a better place," said Raven, genuinely confused. "You said you didn't want to dance anymore; that's why I found this place for you." She reached out to touch Angel's shoulder, the place where Angel's secret was folded around her body. "I can hide; you can't." 

Angel threw the last clean tankard into the pile with a clatter. "Maybe I shouldn't have to – maybe there's more to life than working and sleep and fucking. Maybe, you've forgotten that, with your white horse and your fine clothes and all the food you can eat."

She didn't speak to Raven again until the tables were scoured and stacked with chairs. Then, huddled under blankets in the attic niche that was Angel's bed, she let Raven make her apologies with fingers and tongue. 

"Xavier is younger than you'd think," she said later, with her mouth to Angel's neck. "Sometimes I think he sees me as a Companion too. Maybe I have forgotten what it means to live with humans. It's been so long. I'm sorry." She moved her lips across Angel's shoulder blade to where the membranous wings clung to her skin like spider silk. Angel was the only other Changechild she'd ever met, and her life had been no easier than Raven's, until Raven found Xavier and safety and acceptance. She reminded herself to be more careful. Not everyone was as lucky as her. 

Angel shivered and arched her back, rustling her wings, and Raven was clearly forgiven. 

\----

Karse was no more difficult to negotiate than war-stricken Hardorn. The ground was metal-poor, and Erik found plenty of people willing to buy his reclaimed iron. His accent quickly marked him as a stranger, but on the border, far from the cities and the black-clad priests, traders were quietly welcomed. Generous prices and gentle questions about other men with accents led Erik to an inn unpopular with the locals but frequented by the travelling traders and the few foreign settlers trapped by shifting borders. 

He knew the men immediately, though not specifically. They had not been part of any unit assigned to Schmidt, but their bearing, their accents and their smug self-congratulatory manner were pure mid-rank Hardorn military. He paid a copper for a tankard of weak and sour ale, and sauntered to their table. 

The men were wary, but when he sketched out the beginning of a Hardornen salute, the skinny one stood and covered Erik's hand with his own. 

"None of that, my friend. These fools may take your coin with a smile, but it doesn't take much to push them into a religious fury." 

The other, paunchy and sallow from ale, huffed into the thin foam on his tankard. "Don't spoil it for us; we've just softened them up." 

Erik eased a smile across his face, and gently removed the man's hand from his own. "Understood, gentlemen. Easy to lose your head – too long away from barracks life." 

"Ah," said the paunchy one. "Yes, it takes while to shed one's skin. A year ago, if you'd told me I'd be farming hogs in Karse, I'd have run you through with a bayonet. Here I am, though, and never happier out of uniform." 

"Ah, you're a farmer now, then?" Erik settled back in his seat, and sipped his ale. "I'm from farming stock, myself, though I learned a new trade in the army. Actually, I'm hoping to track down my teacher; I heard tell that he'd come this way." 

The skinny one raised his eyebrows. "What did he teach you, this man?" 

"He was a Smith," Erik said. "Here, let me show you." He reached a hand out towards the platter, and the knife leapt to him from the gnawed bones and puddles of grease. The iron was thin in the blade, but it rearranged in his hand to form a hard, gleaming edge that winked in the candlelight. 

The two men pushed their chairs back and reached for weapons they no longer carried. It was over very quickly. Erik took the map of the mountains sketched shakily onto a worn piece of leather, tipped the lantern into a puddle of grease and left them all to roast. 

\---

Perhaps it was talking to Raven that triggered it, but Xavier dreamed that night, something Companions rarely did. Knees locked, standing under an apple tree in full bloom, his mind wandered through an unfamiliar place – a carnival? A place where people gathered, with laughing children and happy faces. He pushed through the crowds, searching for something he could not remember, then woke, unsatisfied, and surrounded by the other Companions. He flared his nostrils in dismay; he must have been broadcasting. And with his abilities, most of Haven could have shared the dream. 

:No,: said Rolan, and he stepped forward. :We have shielded the city while your mind travelled.: 

Xavier shook himself completely awake. :What has happened?: He was glad the Companions were here; his Mindspeech felt loud and clumsy. And he was so distracted, as though he were missing out on a conversation taking place at the other end of the world. 

Rolan nodded in his direction with a snort. :You have found your Chosen, Xavier. And reached past the borders of Valdemar to do it, too.: He flicked his ears. :Quite the feat, actually. We're all feeling a little wracked.: 

:I'm sorry.: Xavier hung his head apologetically. :I thought I had more control over my Mindspeaking than that, these days.: 

Gwena shouldered past Rolan, and reached out to brush Xavier's muzzle with her own. :Don't apologise, and don't let Rolan make you feel bad. We're all very proud of your hard work. And control is the last thing you think of when your Chosen is at hand. Go. Put all your energy into following that feeling, and bring home your Chosen.: She blew a gentle sigh that brushed against his skin, and blushing, he turned to leave. 

Raven caught up with him in the stables, in her favourite form: that of a young blonde woman. Xavier was wriggling uncomfortably under his tack. He had rarely worn any harness at all, and he could see that it was going to take some getting used to. But a Companion doesn't ride out without his gear. His Chosen – his Chosen! – would need a saddle, for one thing. And he had to admit, the bells had a certain charm. 

Raven slipped into the stall and smoothed the corner of the saddle blanket down. "Gwena told me what happened. Are you going to be all right by yourself? I could steal a horse, come with you." 

Xavier butted his head against her, jingling. :I wish you could, but I think this is something I have to do alone.: 

She walked a full circle around him, taking in the blue and white barding on the reins and the bells braided in his mane. "It really suits you, actually. Finally, you have gear that measures up to your vanity. I hope this Chosen is as much of a peacock." 

Xavier could feel the worry boiling inside her, and he stepped close, rested his chin on her shoulder. :Whoever I have Chosen will be a good person,: he said. :And you will be friends, I know it.: 

"Just come home safely to me." Raven leaned her head against his, and they stood there together until it was time to leave. 

\---

Angel was surprisingly bewildered at Raven's news. "So, will you keep living in Companion's Field?" 

"Well," said Raven. "I had this idea. He only left yesterday; why don't we follow him? I can make sure the silly fluffhead is taking proper care of himself, and you can finally get to see a Companion up close." 

Angel heaved chairs off the tables and arranged them clumsily. "I suppose that would work," she said. There was doubt in her voice, and Raven took her by the shoulders to gaze into her face. Angel was in parts terrified, disappointed and ashamed. 

"Oh," said Raven. It made sense suddenly – all Angel talked about were Companions, Heralds, happenings at the Collegium. "You wanted him to Choose you? I'm so sorry, Angel. I didn't realise." Part of her was a little hurt. Had Angel really been her friend, or was had Raven merely been a stepping stone to Companion's Field? 

Angel's hand shot out faster than Raven could anticipate. The slap was hard enough that for a moment, clouds of blue swam across Raven's face. Raven pulled herself together and glanced at the innkeeper, but her head was down over her bookwork. She had seen nothing.

"You're so stupid sometimes! Don't you understand? You've had it easy! Now you'll see how it is to always watch over your shoulder. You think the others will speak up for you, if anyone gets a whisper of what you are? You'll be swinging from a gibbet without your precious Xavier around." Angel gave Raven a good shove in the chest, and ran from the inn.

The innkeeper looked up from her numbers. "Heading off to see her man, I imagine." She laughed at Raven's expression. "What, you thought you were the only one for her? By now I can tell the ones with itchy feet and high ambition. She was never going to stop as a barmaid for long." 

Raven stared, shocked and uncertain, then ran after Angel. 

She tracked Angel, wearing the body of a lanky butcher's boy and carrying a plausible bundle wrapped in white cloth. Angel, ahead of her in the crowd, moved with purpose towards the upper circle of mansions and townhouses that formed a ring of luxury and glamour around the Palace. It was strange to see Angel glancing over her shoulder, and not recognising Raven. She fought to keep her expression blank, and castigated herself for expecting Angel to recognise her. That was Xavier's ability. Angel was right; Raven had grown careless while living in safety. 

At a house bordered with a thick, tall hedge, Angel slipped down a service alley. Raven turned the same corner just in time to see Angel disappear through a gap in the greenery. She hurried to the place in the hedge, and stopped there, ostensibly to fiddle with her boot, while she peered into the spacious gardens on the other side. The house inside was big and airy, but the windows were draped with white cloth. 

Angel seemed surprised to find this: first she peeped through the windows, then she marched to the grand entrance and pounded on the grand wooden doors, first with one hand then with both fists, angrily. By the time Raven had pushed herself through the bristly hedge, Angel had cast off the shawl she wore to cover her wings. It hung from her hand as she fluttered about the windows on the upper storey, desperately checking room after room. 

"What are you doing? Someone could see you!" Raven shouted at her. 

Angel started, and fell a few feet at the sight of an apparent stranger, then recovered as she recognised Raven's voice if not her features. She swooped and landed with a rare stumble on the manicured grass in front of Raven, then raised her hand to strike Raven across the cheek. 

Raven stopped her easily, and pulled her close. Angel's face was tear-streaked and furious but not enough to hide her fear. 

"What is this place? I'm not angry, if it was a lover, or, or someone who gave you money, but you're frightened, Angel, why?"

Angel rested a moment in Raven's arms. "They were here yesterday, only yesterday! How can they be gone so fast? It's only been a day." 

Raven stepped away. "What do you mean?" 

"They knew things," Angel said. "Without me saying anything, they could tell what's happening. Now you've decided to leave, and I'm no use to them anymore." She turned towards the empty house, and laughed, a bitter sound that Raven hadn't heard since she left the brothel. "They said they'd take me when they left. And I believed them. Because I will never learn." 

"You were spying?" Raven tried to understand – all of Angel's questions. "On Xavier? The Companions?" 

"Haven's not the haven you think it is," Angel said, flatly. "Nobody's safe, don't you ever listen to me? I tried to tell you, but you don't want to hear it. You think you're protected. You think the people who keep you safe accept you, but you can never relax and let them see the real you." 

Raven had retreated so far that she couldn't touch Angel even if she stretched out her arms. "We were never friends." 

"No." Angel's face was blank, closed in a way Raven had never seen. 

Raven turned and walked towards the fence. Behind her, she heard the flutter of Angel's wings but she didn't look back. 

The next time Raven saw Angel was days later, on a tumbrel. She could barely see over the top of the thronging crowd, so she discreetly lengthened her legs to peer over the heads of the people in front of her. Angel's hands were in manacles and blood trickled from a wound on her forehead. She appeared stunned, detached from the jostling and ruckus around her. Despite herself, Raven felt a clench in her chest; Angel must be so frightened. On the wagon, Guardsmen stood before and behind her, though they had their crossbows trained on the crowd as often as they did on their prisoner. 

Next to Raven, a woman shrieked and raised her arm. "Witch-made monster!" Before Raven could stop her, the woman let a rock fly from her hand, but the Guardsman swept it aside with his crossbow. 

"None of that, now!" he shouted in her direction. "The prisoner is in Royal custody, and we'll have no harm come to her, not till she's been tried." 

The crowd jeered, and Angel stirred from her stupor. She caught Raven's eye, and for a moment, Raven wanted to reach across the heads of the crowd and pull Angel to safety. It didn't matter, all the things she'd done, not now that Angel was in danger. Then Angel raised her manacles to point. 

"She's one! She's a Changechild too, look at her! Can't you see? We're everywhere and you'll never know!" 

The crowd swivelled like a great machine, and instinct made Raven drop to the ground. When she stood, she was the butcher's boy again. There was one moment when she stared into Angel's face, then, gut squirming and heart thumping, she turned too, pretending to search for this supposed Changechild. Behind her, there was a distinctive flutter. The Guards shouted and their bowstrings sung. When Raven turned again, the tumbrel was empty and the Guards were scrambling to the rooftops. Angel was nowhere to be seen. 

Mouth dry, and full of shame, Raven slunk to a cellar niche where she kept spare clothes and supplies. She had get out of this city. She would follow Xavier after all, and she would tell him everything. Together they'd make sense of it, and Raven would feel safe again. 

\---

Erik moved through the crowded refugee camp in some confusion, stepping out of the way of a group of children thundering past and shrieking happily. All around him, people busied themselves with the kind of housekeeping that comes with living in a tent city: hanging out bedding, sweeping the wooden planks laid down over muddy ground, and gossiping with their neighbours, all with a cheerful earnestness that belied the trauma they must have left behind. In Hardorn, where the very earth was corrupted by Ancar's rule, neighbour had fought neighbour to survive, and trust was a concept lost in one generation. Karse, he remembered from childhood geography lessons in happier times, was supposed to be a dour, religious place, constantly warring along its borders with Hardorn and Valdemar. Yet here were happy, well-fed people, obviously not rich but cheerfully distributing food and shelter to the Hardornen refugees. It was an unexpected kindness, and judging from the faces of the people fleeing Hardorn's borders, it was a contagious one, too. 

Such openness was a vulnerability. Erik imagined Schmidt prowling the colourful tents with a genial smile. How he'd cup the children's faces, and offer them candy. He supressed a shudder, and moved on through the camp. Karse was ruled by a priesthood. They had best pray their God was watchful, if the Smith was roaming this land. 

Ahead of him, people clustered at a make-shift village square, where food was handed out daily by soldiers and priests. Erik heard jingling bells and the delighted cries of children, he supposed there must be a puppet show or a minstrel performing. He took a sharp turn down a narrow alley lined with canvas; he had no interest in dancing monkeys and bawdy songs. None the less, when he came out of the alley, he found himself at the edge of the crowd. They milled, murmuring in excitement as a riderless horse stepped out into the open space. 

Erik stared at it: so white that it dazzled, the horse was the cleanest thing he'd seen since he entered the muddy camp. Decked out in blue and white, with bells braided into his mane, the horse was obviously the property of a rich – and ostentatious – man. It walked to the centremost point of the open space, and arched its neck delicately with a soft jingle of bells. 

"It's a Companion of Valdemar," said a woman with a basket of washing on her hip; her accent was south Hardorn, painfully familiar. "Them ones the Heralds ride." 

Ah, thought Erik. Everyone knew of the Heralds of Valdemar and the bizarre requirements of inheritance in that country. Then again, Hardorn followed a traditional primogeniture, which had given them Ancar on the throne. Maybe there was something to having a magic white horse choose your heir. 

The Companion gave a huffing snort, uncannily like a laugh, and turned in his direction. The Karsite adults watched warily, raised on stories of the White Demon Riders. Some of them melted into the crowd. 

"Here, there's nothing to be afraid of," said an older man. He had the cast of a soldier about him and not just because of the peg leg he stumped hard into the mud. He held a hand out to the horse, and it whuffled his fingers amiably. "He'll be out searching for his Chosen, this one. We hear about it in the army – I served in Valdemar before I settled down out here." He turned to the crowd, drawing in the gaze of the children gathered around him as he would when telling old war stories. "Could be any one of you he's seeking. His Chosen will become a Herald, same as Vanyel in the stories. All it takes is a touch of the mind magic, or even true magic these days, and he'll ask you to join with him, take you to Valdemar, teach you to use those powers for good." 

Erik's mouth went dry, and he left the crowd as fast as he could. It was probably a coincidence – how could the creature know anything about a Hardornen's magic? Nevertheless, it was best that Erik leave the camp, get as far away from here as possible. He had no time for magic horses and strange quests, not when he was closing in on the Smith. 

He heard the soft sound of bells ahead, and turned sharply down an aisle and into a large tent that functioned as an inn. He nodded to the innkeeper, and marched between the benches to the flap of canvas that stood for a back door. Bells again, and this time he saw the Companion daintily stepping over guy ropes as he moved his great bulk through the narrow space between tents. The horse stopped when he realised Erik was watching, and he shook his head with a shower of chimes, as if to say "This would be much easier if you'd just stand still." 

"Not bloody likely," said Erik. He gestured with one hand, and a slew of staples thudded into the canvas wall, deftly snagging ropes as they flew. In an instant, there was a web of rope between him and the Companion. The horse paused mid-step, one foot in the air, and turned his head slightly to regard Erik with a baleful blue eye. 

Erik pointed a finger at him. "Leave me alone. I'm not the one you want." He turned away from the horse, ignored the furious whinny, and walked on. The horse was obviously intelligent, and though it would take some time and effort for it to pick its way backwards over the guy ropes, Erik had not entangled its legs or attempted to trap it. A part of him wanted to, the part that he honed ruthlessly for the moment he met with the Smith. 

"I do not torture animals," he said to himself as he returned to his hammock in a communal tent. "I will not become Schmidt, no matter the cost." 

Erik packed his bedroll, paid up for the space he had rented, and headed for the edge of the campsite. He had gathered enough information to follow Schmidt's trail a little further; he would have preferred the chance to hunt for more here, where many people gathered, but the risk was too great. 

A good couple of hours hard walking uphill, and Erik had left the camp behind. He was heading north, deeper into Karse, slowly climbing the Armor foothills where Schmidt was rumoured to keep a holding. He dug his walking stick, weighted inside with lead, into the sandy track with each step, and imagined it was Schmidt's skull that crumbled beneath his feet. 

He paused at the turn of the road; there was metal ahead. He extended his senses: silver, it was, pure and lovingly shaped. He made a noise of frustration. Bells. Something bedecked in bells stood silently, just around the bend of the path. 

Erik formed the speech in his mind, how he'd tell this stupid magical horse to prance all the way home to Valdemar. When he turned the corner, he met the creature's gaze. Blue eyes, it had, bluer than anything Erik had ever seen. The blue overwhelmed him, calm and peaceful, filling his head with a joy so deep he felt lost in it. 

:I am Xavier, and you, Erik, are my Chosen. Out of all the world, out of all the seeking, I have found you, brother of my heart. You are mine and I am yours and never again will there be loneliness.: 

:NO! I refuse! I do not belong to anyone!: Erik thrashed against the mental contact, forcing the voice out of his mind. He pushed hard physically against the horse's chest, falling down in the road. Something warm trickled against his lip, and he tasted blood in his mouth. 

The horse was affected, too: it staggered, hooves scraping against the loose shale of the road. Then it stepped forward, slowly, as if not to startle Erik where he lay in the dust. It stretched its head forward, and its breath moved Erik's hair gently.

:I am sorry. I am so sorry. I would never want to hurt you.: The voice still echoed inside Erik's head, but the tone was softer, less penetrating.

Erik swatted at the muzzle above him in irritation. "Just leave me alone. Go back to your magic horse kingdom and sit on the throne." 

Xavier nudged at him, neatly avoiding Erik's swinging hands. :Not while you are injured. Never, if I have caused you harm. Can you stand?: 

"I don't want to stand." Erik felt dizzy and his head was pounding. He swiped at his nose, and gawped blearily at the blood on his palm. He wasn't surprised. His brains must surely be leaking out of his skull. The sunlight was needles in his eyes.

:This is psychic backslash,: said Xavier. He moved carefully, until he stood beside Erik, facing the same direction. :You need to get up, Erik. You are dazed, but the pain will be worse soon. Some people lose their vision for a short time. Stand up now. It's not safe on the road when you are vulnerable.: 

Erik leaned against the horse's legs, too glad of the shade to be bothered with wariness. "Maybe I'll just sit here." 

:Come on,: Xavier's voice was soft and encouraging, a mother hen clucking to her chicks. :You can stand. I'll stay very still. Reach up, there's a stirrup not far from you. It will hold against your body weight, pull yourself up.: 

Erik flailed for the stirrup, and when it slipped away from his clumsy fingers, he called the brass and iron to his hand. Then, as a mountain climber does, he pulled himself upright, clinging tight to the pommel. His legs felt cloud-soft as carded wool, easily tangled. He took a step, and swayed hard against Xavier's shoulder. 

:I don't suppose you'd consider riding?: 

"Not likely," said Erik, weakly. "You'll carry me all the way to Valdemar, and lock me away. I won't be your princess in a tower." 

:Oh, not a tower. I'm really no good with stairs,: said Xavier, and took a step forward. Erik clung to Xavier's mane and tottered along beside him wobbly as a newborn lamb. 

Step by step, as the backlash headache blossomed over Erik's mind, Xavier led him off the road and to a quiet glade of plane trees. There, in the green-tinted sunlight, Erik collapsed to the ground, fingers pressed into his eye sockets, while Xavier stood defensively at the mouth of the grove. 

:Rest. I will keep watch.: Xavier's words were a cool cloth pressed to his brow. Despite the thumping pain and the danger, he felt himself slipping into sleep. 

When he woke, he was surrounded by white. Somehow, with delicacy belied by his hooves and bulk, Xavier had negotiated himself onto the ground, into a curl of solid warmth that Erik had made a pillow of while he slept. He lay still for a few more minutes, feeling the rise and fall of Xavier's sides with each breath. His headache was gone, and so was the sensitivity to light. The absence of pain completely made up for the damp of early morning dew on his clothes and hair. 

:I'm sorry,: Xavier's voice was soft inside his head, with none of that rawness of sensation from their meeting in the road. :If I had the means to light a fire, I would.: 

Erik shook his head, and scrambled to his feet. "It is nothing." He looked down at the horse, still on the ground, still saddled. "Is it common for creatures such as you to sleep in your harness?" 

Xavier made a noise deep in his chest, a remarkably human groan. :Along with lighting fires, I lack the ability to remove my own tack, but I will manage. How is your head? Are you in pain?: 

"Nothing worse than an ale-headache," said Erik. He took in his surroundings. The glade was secluded, and deep in the greenery that flourished by the roadside. He could feel the road nearby – it was covered in a crushed rock full of pyrite – but he doubted they were visible. 

:There is a tea, packed in the off-side saddlebag.: Xavier propped his forelegs out in front of him, and scrambled to his feet, the first inelegant movement Erik has seen the horse display. :It numbs the pain that comes from overuse of one's gifts.: He turned, showed Erik the leather satchels strapped to the saddle. 

Erik didn't want to numb anything, he felt numb enough. He slipped out of his coat, hung it over a branch and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "Do they have grooming kit in those bags? I think I'd rather sweat this headache out."

He didn't know a horse could appear so delighted. :Of course, everything you need. I'd be very grateful.: 

Erik unbuckled the girth and folded it over the saddle, then hefted it and the blanket off Xavier's back. He had associated with merchants for too long, he thought, it had trained his eye for excellence. He could not help but note the fine grain in the leather, the high quality brass in the fittings. He opened the saddlebag, and called the iron hoof pick to his hand. The weight of it against his palm was familiar in a long-forgotten way. Too many merchants, he thought. Not enough hard labour.

:You have a great skill with metal.: Xavier stood with eerie tranquillity, one hoof raised and waiting to be cleaned. 

Erik scraped the mud and stones from each hoof, and admired the quality of the curved iron shoes as he worked. "We use the gifts we're given to the best of our abilities." One of Schmidt's aphorisms. It pleased Erik to use it now, in this pleasant glen with a magical horse. 

:A very Hardornen sentiment,: said Xavier. :Still, it is not many men in Hardorn who can bend metal with their minds.: 

Erik placed Xavier's hind foot down with great care and stood upright. "Are you reading my thoughts?" Some of the implacable calm with which he had awakened had dissipated. "Are you dampening my anger?" He felt a chill. Who was he without his anger? 

Xavier shook his head and turned to face him. :It's the remains of the mind bond, and I promise you, it will fade. As long as we do nothing to encourage it.: His voice was overlayed with apology. 

Erik had no reason to believe him, and now that he knew the calm he felt was preternatural, he should have just walked away. But he was a farmer's son, and he couldn't leave a horse untended. He reached for the brush and curry comb and put himself to work. 

Xavier leaned into the brush strokes, and when Erik had established a rhythm with the brush, he spoke. :We usually Choose children, you see.: 

Erik leaned against the white warmth of Xavier's body to groom under his belly where the girth had sat overnight, making sure there was not a trace of sweat or dirt left there to cause a gall. "That doesn't make it better. How is a child supposed to repel that kind of mental assault? How is a child supposed to tell the difference between a magical horse and a predator?" 

Xavier didn't answer for a while, and Erik threw his weight into the grooming process, until Xavier's coat was sleek and gleaming under hand, the braids in his mane neatened and his tail brushed out. 

:I don't have answers to your questions,: said Xavier, quietly, while Erik shook out the saddle blanket and ordered the straps of the bitless bridle. :All I can tell you is that when we Choose, our Chosen is usually a child, usually in a dire situation. We can offer that child sanctuary and safety.: 

The words thumped into Erik's mind with the tramp of soldiers' feet, and for a moment, he tasted ash. "Sanctuary and safety, is it? A fine pity, then, that you found me a little too late." He threw the bridle to the ground, picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Without another word, he stepped out from under the trees and forced his way through the brush on to the road. 

:Erik! Wait, please!: The mind call was desperate, even through the restraints Xavier laid upon himself not to overwhelm Erik's mind.

Erik closed his mind as best he could, and concentrated on putting on foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other had taken him from Schmidt's care to independence, from victim to hunter, and it would take him to Schmidt once again. 

He was glad, in a way, to leave that creature and all that it promised behind him. There was no place in his world for fairy tales and magic guardians. 

\---

It took Xavier only a moment or two to rally after the flood of images that poured from Erik's mind. With two strides and a mighty leap he was on the road, and then Erik could not move fast enough to evade him. They walked in silence together: Erik with his head down, staunchly pretending that a saddleless, bridleless horse was not walking beside him, and Xavier staying at his shoulder, no matter what pace Erik chose. 

Eventually, Xavier was the one to speak. :I am sorry. I would have come to you then, I would have spared you everything, if I only had the means.: The words spilled out faster and faster, Xavier felt breathless with the effort of keeping his Mindspeech at a level that would not hurt Erik. 

Erik's mind was closing off to him. Without the chance for the mind bond to flourish, it was dwindling to nothing more than a thread of awareness. They needed time, Xavier thought desperately, they needed quiet and safety and a chance to learn each other. The hurt that had been done to Erik – and how it burned inside Xavier, that this had been done to his Chosen – was too great, and the anger spawned by it consumed every other emotion. 

They walked in silence through the heat of the day, and Erik never once acknowledged Xavier's presence. Xavier tried again after some hours, venturing a gentle thought towards Erik's mind. 

:I – we are born aware, with consciousness, with all the knowledge we will need in adult life, but we are young in body – I couldn't have come, I was a child, too, then. And nobody understands exactly what calls a Companion to his Chosen, just that it happens when the Chosen has the greatest need.:

"What greater need could I have had?" Erik snapped, suddenly. He turned to face Xavier, and the fury in his face was terrible to see. "I was a child! My family was murdered, my village was razed in front of me. What greater need did my mother have? My father? My cousins? Why is there not a Companion for every child that lives in fear, everywhere in the world?" 

Xavier sighed, and stepped forward, arching his neck until his forehead was close to Erik's. :Because there are only Companions for those who can do the most good. Because within you, there is potential – great potential, Erik, abilities that can help so many people. Because I can see there is so much more to you, so much more than the pain that has been inflicted upon you and the anger that it feeds on. There is good in you, Erik, I can see it.:

Erik snorted derisively and tried to pull away, but Xavier held him with his gaze. :I am here because you were alone. You can do good in the world. We can do more together. You do not need to fight alone.: 

Erik caught him by the chin and held him, though his grip was gentle. "Who have you ever fought, you big white fool?" He gave Xavier's head a shake. "Absurd magical talking horse. Go home before you get yourself dirty." 

:The Smith has left the mountains,: Xavier said quickly. :You can trek all the way up to his base if you must, but I will be surprised if you find him there. At the refugee camp, there was a man who was part of a wagon train, carrying Schmidt's gear from the Armor Hills to Red Stag Lake. I can take you there, it won't be more than a few days' ride. Companions are swift.: 

Erik stared at him, speechless suddenly. 

:Before we find him,: Xavier said, self-consciously, :Could we go and get my gear?: 

\---

Erik put all kinds of strictures on Xavier's offer of assistance while he organised the Companion into saddle and bridle.

"This doesn't make me your Chosen. I've got no intentions of being a Herald." Erik pulled the girth up, inch by inch. "Do you push out your gut like a horse? Will I need to tighten this?" It seemed absurd to ask this kind of question – Xavier had patently demonstrated that he was sentient – but Erik wanted these things clear before he ended up on his back in the road, with Xavier's saddle hanging under his own belly. 

He was beginning to understand the mechanisms of Mindspeech: if you fired enough questions at Xavier and saturated the thoughts with imagery, you could feel him picking through the detail to find the point of the conversation. After the deluge of thought and emotion and words that had been their first contact, it was reassuring for Erik that Xavier could be distracted. 

:You are my Chosen, there is nothing to be done about that, but I'm not going to spirit you away to Valdemar. And, no, the saddle is fine, but if you could stretch out my legs I would be more comfortable.: He held up a foreleg, and waited for Erik to come around and stretch it. 

Erik laughed; Xavier had all the manners of a high-bred lady, waiting for someone to dress her hair and ease on her satin slippers. He hooked an arm around each foreleg in turn, pulling it forward so that the skin was no longer pinched by the girth. 

:You've ridden before, I imagine? You can obviously care for horses.: With nothing more to pack, Xavier was obviously feeling a little nervous about leaving. 

"Our village had a pair of drays," said Erik. "They belonged to one man, but all of the village children helped care for them. I'm fine with the harness and grooming and feed, but we never really learned to ride, not for leisure." He put a foot in one stirrup, and heaved himself aboard with effort. "I wouldn't say that I ride like a gentlemen." 

:I see,: Xavier said, faintly, as he adjusted his footing. :Well, we can certainly work on finesse as we go.: 

\---

Raven thumped her heels against the sides of her bay gelding, and wished longingly for a telepathic horse. She had stolen this creature three towns ago, and he had been nothing but intransigent. It was one thing to be told by a Companion that she must always have a feather-light touch on the reins, and another to have a stubborn swaybacked lazy mount yawing at the bit because he wanted to eat the grass. Still, she had been sleeping better once she was outside the city walls, though her dreams were filled with shouting crowds and the thunder of Guardsmen's boots. 

There was no way she was letting Xavier go off on alone now, not with the things that Angel had told her, not with the things she'd seen before she left. She just had to make sure she didn't interfere with the Choosing. She knew well enough, growing up in Companion's Field, that the Mind Bond worked best when everyone felt safe and assured. All she had to do was keep Xavier far enough ahead that he couldn't detect her telepathically, which, as she reckoned, was about fifty miles. To be fair, that didn't give her much chance to actually _track_ Xavier, but as long as he stayed within the borders of Valdemar, Raven would be able to follow the wake of gossip generated by an unpaired Companion riding out to Choose. So far, this theory was holding well: Xavier had stopped at a village each night, and been greeted with all due reverence and excitement, then given a good feed and groom before setting out again in the morning. 

Raven knew her geography well enough to see that Xavier was moving in as straight a line east as possible, and that line pointed at the border with Hardorn. She booted her bay in the belly and forced him into a jog-trot. She had to catch up with Xavier by the time he reached the border; she knew little enough about the Hardornen language or people to impersonate someone, and as the political situation stood right now, it would be pretty stupid to be caught on the other side of the border as a Valdemaran. Let alone a Changechild. 

Her horse, sluggish and indifferent from the moment she'd stolen him, suddenly leapt into life, shying violently sideways with a terrified whinny. She held her seat well enough - thanks to years of practice with Xavier - and then the horse was running, neck stretched out and ears flat with fear. Raven clamped her legs hard against the horse's sides, and concentrated on the road ahead. This stupid nag wasn't watching where he was going; at this rate, he'd bolt straight into the side of a wagon and break both their necks. Gradually, though, the horse's pace slowed, and she was able to bring his head around, and guide him up onto the verge. The gallop became a bone-shaking trot, and then the horse came to a halt, sides heaving and breath roaring through his reddened nostrils. 

Raven slid to the ground with suddenly wobbly legs. She was fine, the horse was winded but otherwise seemed sound. She stared down the road behind them, but it was empty as far as her eyes could see. Whatever had startled the horse had been left far behind them. Probably a shadow, Raven thought, sourly. Or an oddly shaped rock - terrifying. 

"Stupid nag," she said, but she thumped the creature on the neck affectionately. "You've given up your secret now: you're fleet as a deer when you want!" She'd have to walk the beast until his breathing settled, but it was a fine day, and the road wasn't too dusty. She looped the reins over her arm and led the horse down to the road again. 

It was an easy walk, and it gave Raven time to survey the land ahead. The bay gelding never really settled down into his previous torpor, instead his eyes boggled at every leaf and twig that blew down from the trees. Soon Raven was jumping too: was that a twig snapping in the thick brush? Did she see a flash of something moving between the trees? 

Eventually, her ears and eyes made sense of the random noises: there was something in the bushes, tracking them as they walked. She stepped off the road and tethered the horse to a tree. Then, she pulled her knife, and shouldered her way into the brush. In Haven, she'd spent time posing as a Guard-in-training; she knew her woodcraft well enough to move quietly and could wield a knife without cutting off her thumb. Slowly and carefully, she stalked the thing that was stalking her, but she never seemed to get close to it. Whatever it was, it was too big to move silently; leaves danced and kindling crackled ahead of her as it slipped as unobtrusively as possible between narrow saplings and under low branches. Eventually, when it had led her in a circle back to her horse, now happily cropping grass by the side of the road, she gave up and put her hands on her hips. She was almost certain by now that it was Xavier in the bushes: it was big and it was pale and it always, always knew exactly where she was. 

"Come out, Xavier! I know it's you. You might be able to find me, but you can't find my traps. Remember the pit? You had mud up to your balls." 

:That sounds uncomfortable,: a telepathic voice said. :I guess I'd rather you didn't do that.: The white bulk of a Companion weaselled between two trees, moving with surprising delicacy through the undergrowth. 

Raven stared at the creature; she'd been around Companions long enough to be able to tell them apart, and this wasn't Xavier. "Who are you?" 

"Armando," said the Companion. "And we haven't met, I've been out of Valdemar on envoy duty, carrying esteemed diplomatic personnel to Rethwallen." He rolled his eyes, a very human gesture that gave his impression of this mission. 

Raven laughed, despite herself. "Why are you skulking in the forest, then?" A sudden and horrible thought came to her. "Oh, no, are you here to Choose me? I said I didn't want that!" 

Armando snorted. :Hells, no. I'm not ready to choose anyone. But I'm one of the few unassigned Companions still in the Field at the moment, so they sent me to keep an eye on you. Everyone knows about Xavier's Changechild.: 

Fury boiled up inside Raven's chest. "I'm not _his_ Changechild! And I don't need a bodyguard!" 

:I know,: said Armando, with a nod of his head. :I can see you're perfectly competent. But orders are orders. And honestly, it's just really nice not to have an unwieldy lump of an ambassador swaying around on my saddle. I swear, sometimes I think they're actually hurling themselves bodily at the ground. And woe betide they actually do fall; I have to take all the blame or it will start a war.: 

"That does sound pretty bad," said Raven. "I'd want a bit of a holiday too, after that." She glanced at the bay horse now standing with one leg resting and a tuft of grass hanging from his mouth. "I guess it would be good to have some company while I ride." 

Of all the Companions Raven had ever seen, Armando seemed the most able to go unnoticed when he chose to. Xavier had never mastered this; on their few sorties into Haven's streets, he was never able to resist the urge to shake his mane just so as Guardsmen were marching by, or dancing prettily to make children coo and point. 

:It's all in the slouch,: said Armando. He wore a cheap halter, with a rope that led to Raven's hand, and anyone watching their convoy would only see a dopey bay gelding and a sway-backed white nag on a lead. :It's not even that magical, really. Just having the right frame of mind.: 

Raven found travelling with a Companion (and a companion) much more pleasant. There was someone to take a shift keeping watch while she slept, and for the first time since she left Haven, she slept deeply and woke refreshed. Companions did well on cheap fodder, even if they complained about it while they chewed on rough-cut chaff and dusty hay. Raven counted her pennies, and eyed off the bay gelding. He was becoming less and less an adventurer's mount and more of a liability. 

:Don't give up on the poor thing yet,: said Armando. :Put the saddle over on me, and we'll give him a rest. He's footsore, and he's underfed. Nobody's at their best when they're tired.: 

When Raven had sorted the tack out, and mounted, he gave a happy sigh. :Someone's taught you properly. It's a pity you're so adamant that nobody Choose you.: 

"I'd make a lousy Herald," said Raven. "I'm too sneaky, and I don't take orders well. And I'll keep saying that until you all believe that." 

Armando nosed the bay gelding out onto the road again, and they wove their way into the stream of wagons and riders heading towards the wooden palisade of Trevale. :There are some sneaky Heralds out there. They're not all shining beacons of morality. Cymry's Skif, for example." 

"I suppose," said Raven, thinking of Angel and her questions. Angel had denied wanting to be Chosen with the same cynicism that she rebuffed any offer of assistance, but Raven was certain she felt the same yearning to belong that Raven had felt until she found Xavier. 

Armando flicked his ears in her direction. It was a gesture so like Xavier that Raven forgot she didn't let just anybody stroll through her mind. : You can't be a morally decrepit fiend unsuitable for Heraldom AND be on a mission to save everyone.:

Raven scowled, and gave him a good thump in the sides. She locked down her mind as Xavier had taught her. "Sorry," she said blandly. "That merchant was watching us. Needed to convince him we weren't having a conversation."

Armando flattened his ears and gave a little pigroot, unseating her for a moment. :We're going to need to work on this dynamic.: His uneven gait suddenly settled as the palisade came into view. :That's odd.: 

Raven shielded her eyes from the sun to see. Something had happened to the wooden walls surrounding the town of Trevale. They were scorched and blackened, and some of the planks lay scattered on the ground, sheared into fragments as easily as Raven could tear cloth. The edges of the timber were clean and sharp, as if they'd been cut with a hot knife. Raven couldn't imagine what kind of weapon had done it. 

:Not a weapon,: said Armando, grimly. :Magic.: 

Raven swallowed. Magic was a mysterious thing, only newly returned to Valdemar. She'd never seen magic performed, and while she was, supposedly, a creature shaped by magic, she had no particular desire to investigate that aspect of her history. Xavier had told her stories - or, at least they'd seemed like stories to her - about the theory of magic, and how magic flowed through great webs undergrown. It all seemed profoundly unnatural.

"Maybe we should go around Trevale, and stop further up the mountains?" she suggested. 

Armando ignored her. :Something's happening,: he said, and picked up the pace, moving at a smooth trot. Several of the wagoneers they'd been travelling near started: it was as unlikely a pace for a old nag as you could imagine. 

On the crest of a hill, the townsfolk had built a rough gallows from the remains of their palisade, and a small crowd gathered nearby, though they seemed hesitant to go too close to the structure. Instead, they milled and circled at a distance. Suddenly, as one, they gave a great cheer and threw their arms in the air. 

:Get off!: Armando shouted in her mind, and reared upwards. Raven slithered to the ground, and Armando leapt forward straight into a gallop. Raven was up on the bay the next second, and with heels drumming at the horse's side, she followed. 

Armando cut through the crowd of jeering townsfolk like an arrow, and much to the startlement of their black-masked hangman, thundered right under the main beam of the gallows. By the time Raven had goaded the bay up the hill and into the milling crowd, she saw that Armando stood beneath the hanged man's feet, taking the weight of his body off the rope. He hadn't been fast enough to prevent the rope pulling tight around the man's throat, though. Purple in the face, the man staggered and gasped, struggling to keep his footing on the saddle beneath him, but with his hands tied behind him, he couldn't loosen the rope that was choking him. 

:Help him!: Armando demanded desperately in her mind. His voice was imperious, and there was no sign of the gentle, sly humour he had shown up until now. 

Raven drew her knife, assessed the crowd, and shifted into a bulky man in leather armour. The armour wouldn't provide her any protection beyond the slight thickening of her skin, but it appeared effective. She pushed through the crowd, and vaulted onto Armando. She stood carefully on his rump, balancing neatly on toes made long for that very purpose, and brought the knife to the man's throat. 

The poor man flinched, confused about what was happening. Raven put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and eased the knife against the noose. 

"Finish the fucker off!" a voice shouted from the crowd. 

Armando had dropped all disguise now; he veritably glowed in the setting sun as he arched his neck and screamed a feral challenge to anyone who dared come close to the three of them. There was no questioning who and what he was, even by a crowd as worked up as this. 

Slowly the rope split against the sharp blade. Raven didn't dare saw at it, not this close to the man's neck, not while he balanced precariously atop a Companion in front of a furious crowd. Eventually the rope divided, and the man drew a great whooping breath. He fell, but Armando manoeuvred himself so that the man now sat astride, still with his hands tied, but safe. 

:Can you disperse the crowd?: Armando seemed distracted, and Raven could hear the low buzz of Mindspeaking. On Armando's back, the man was still heaving great draughts of air into his lungs with a hoarse noise. He leaned forward, as if he were straining to listen to something far away. Raven hoped he wasn't going to faint. 

She jumped down from Armando, and affected the steady, straight-shouldered stride she'd seen the Guard use when they were breaking up bar brawls. The crowd rippled and moved as a single living thing, and she quelled a shiver. She remembered that afternoon with Angel, so much hate and anger focused on one person. Calm your mind, she told herself, as if Xavier were beside her. You can stop this, you can control them. Just think.

"There'll be no hanging here today," she bellowed out for all to hear. "The Companion Armando has assumed responsibility for the accused. He won't be hanged, by the order of Queen Selenay and the Companions of Valdemar." She didn't know if Armando actually had that kind of authority, but it sounded impressive to her. And one of the first things she'd learned about impersonating people was that you had to believe the illusion, or nobody would take you seriously. 

"Here, we're not having any of that!" said the hangman through his black cloth. "This man's a rogue wizard, and we've every right to our own justice. He could have taken a life!" Behind him the crowd murmured and swelled, waves on a shore. 

"But he didn't," said Raven. "Did he?" Standing half a foot taller than the hangman, she stared at him directly, as if she had the ability to see right through his mask and into his mind. She didn't look behind herself, though she desperately wanted to see what Armando was doing. The attention of the crowd was on the Companion, and not on the hangman, and that was the important thing. She leaned close to the hangman and whispered low, so that only he could hear. "I know you want to kill him. I can smell how much you want to see him dance on the end of your rope. Pray that Armando doesn't gaze too closely at your moral fibre, friend, because he will give you the same mercy you had in mind for the accused." 

The hangman winced. Through the eyeholes, Raven could see the blood rising in his face. Sweat soaked into the cloth and made it cling to his skin. She tucked the knife into her boot. 

"If I were you, I'd take my chances and run," she said, softly. "This crowd is going to turn. When that happens, I wouldn't want to be here with a black hood on." 

The man took a step and another, then ran. When he was so far away that she couldn't see the black hood anymore, she turned to see what had caught the crowd's attention. 

The accused man knelt on the ground, hands still tied, his head raised up to Armando. The Companion stood with his head pressed to the damp blond hair. Both were still, as if they had been carved from marble. Raven caught the words spilling from Armando's mind, and spoke them aloud, so that the crowd would understand. The crowd stilled, and to a man, they held their breath as she spoke what was transpiring between the Companion and the hanged man.

"I am Armando. You, Alex, are my Chosen. Out of all the world, out of all the seeking, I have found you, brother of my heart. You are mine and I am yours and never again will there be loneliness."

Alex, the accused man, sagged suddenly against Armando's body. Raven heard the satisfying chime that must be the Companion Mindbond falling into place. She took a deep breath, and turned to face the crowd again. "The Companion Armando has Chosen. Go to your homes and your trades; there will be no execution this day." 

The people in the crowd whispered to each other, and slowly dispersed, melting through the hole in the palisade. Raven sighed, then felt her form waver. She stiffened her spine and forced her muscles to hold this shape; just because the crowd was gone didn't mean that they weren't being watched. If the people of Trevale knew she was a Changechild and magical herself, they'd rally again and hang the both of them. 

She walked carefully up the low rise to where Alex was huddled against Armando's chest. Armando stood still, a steady wall of white for Alex to rest against. Raven crouched beside him and drew her knife, slipping it between the ropes wound around Alex's wrists. When his hands were free, he stood there between the two of them, head hanging, breath raw in his throat. 

"I don't understand," he said in a harsh whisper. "I should be dead. I'm a monster, I don't deserve to live." 

:No,: said Armando. :You are my Chosen. I'll never let your Gift hurt anyone, and I'll never let anyone hurt you.: 

"We need to move along," said Raven. "I think we should pass the town by, just ride with great dignity until they can't see us anymore." 

:Help him up.: Armando demanded. :We need to be in contact, and we need to be in a quiet place.: 

Raven boosted Alex into the saddle, and as an afterthought, tied the reins up on Armando's neck where Alex couldn't mistakenly use them. Until she knew how familiar he was with Companions, it was probably safer to assume he knew nothing. Then she looked around for her stodgy bay gelding, and found him with his head in a barrel of rotten apples. She jerked his head up with a shout. "Hells! You'll be as drunk as a monk if you eat any more of that mush." Her voice had slipped into her own, though she kept the shape of the bulky man in armour. She vaulted onto the bare back of the bay, and kicked him hard in the belly till he rounded into a shambling trot. 

"Why does he sound like a girl?" said Alex, hoarsely, as they moved onto the road beside the palisade. 

:I'll explain later,: said Armando. :For now, just hang on and don't fall. We're going to be moving fast.: With that, he reached out and bit the bay hard on the rump. Raven gave a squeak, then clung on with her knees as the bay stumbled into a canter. Trevale slowly passed behind them, and they faced an open road. 

\---

It was fairly clear to Xavier that Erik had grown up riding carthorses. :Try to imagine a thread passing through your body and out the crown of your head,: he said. :Then imagine someone pulling that thread upwards, stretching your spine until it is long and straight.: They were riding a flat path cut into wheat fields, and the going was very easy. 

"That sounds tortuous. Why would I imagine that?" Erik stuck his feet forward as a farmer would, pulled a straw from the wheat beside them, and stuck it into his mouth. He crossed his arms with a sigh. "I must say, it's quite nice not to have to steer. I wish I'd brought a book or some knitting." 

:You're teasing me,: said Xavier. :Wouldn't you rather be more comfortable as you ride? The more comfortable you are, the less energy I use to move and the faster we get to Red Stag Lake.: 

"We're not going particularly fast now. I don't understand why we spend so much time walking." Erik threw his straw away and leaned forward in the saddle. "I've read the stories; they say you can run as fast as fire."

:Much good that's going to do if I lose you overboard while I'm moving that fast,: Xavier retorted. :A broken arm or, Havens help me, a broken neck will not speed the mission. And if I were someone who had never ridden for long periods of time, I'd listen to the horse. You're going to be stiff as a board when you get up tomorrow. Would you prefer to minimise that?:

Erik sat up straight. "All right, we'll try it your way." He let his legs dangle long past the saddle, and imagined his spine to be a straight line, a rod of steel stretching into the sky. He immediately felt stiffer and more jostled in the saddle. 

:Steel is inflexible,: said Xavier. :I can feel your tailbone jolting against my spine. If we have to use metallic imagery, think of your body as a spring. It absorbs movement as I walk, it reduces the impact of your body against mine. I wish we had time to do this bareback; it makes things so much clearer.: 

Erik was unaccustomed to this ease of conversation. He'd been alone for so long; even when he was in the care of the Smith, he had rarely spoken with anyone. He felt ridiculously giddy with the constant banter. Don't get too attached to this feeling, he warned himself. Nobody is to be trusted. 

He found it strangely peaceful, the routine of riding. Xavier was right: alternating between a ground-eating canter then walking until Xavier caught his breath meant that the miles slipped past easily. 

It would take time for his muscles to learn and adjust to the action of riding. He hadn't spent so much time on horseback in his entire life. The first night of the ride, he dismounted feeling a little tender in the thighs and buttocks, and scoffed at Xavier's suggestion that they stay at an inn with a bathhouse. 

"We're in Hardorn," he said scornfully. "The first thing that will happen is that the village sneaks will report our location to the army. And the second thing that will happen is they'll come for us both, kill me, and drag you away and skin you. Or worse." His shoulders were clenched as he spoke, and his head began to throb: thinking about harm coming to Xavier caused him actual physical pain. "Damn this stupid Mindbond! When will it recede?" 

:Erik,: said Xavier. :There's no need to be afraid. I may be…: he paused delicately while he considered the word, :I may be dazzling, but I have considerable power to make people look away.:

"Dazzling?" said Erik, disbelievingly. "Dazzling? Who in all the hells thinks of themselves that way? You are so ridiculously vain! How is it your feet even touch this earth? Surely even the mud is repelled by something as _dazzling_ as you." 

Xavier pranced, lifting his hooves delicately and dancing lightly over the grass-covered track. :I could come right into the inn and dance on the tables, and nobody would even turn their heads. I'm really very good at mind magic.: He stopped and pushed his nose into Erik's belly. :You're going to be so very sore tomorrow, my friend. Please stop at the inn; I've already convinced them to change the water in the bath. If we hurry, you can be the first person to use it.:

Erik rubbed his hand idly over the whorl of hair on Xavier's brow. It would be best not to be incapacitated by this journey. His stomach growled at the idea of a hot meal. By the time the two of them were riding into the village, he remembered his question about the Mind Bond. After dinner, while he soaked in hot water, he promised himself, he'd make Xavier answer his questions. 

He fell asleep in the high-walled wooden tub, and dreamed vaguely of the long march from his village to the barracks assigned to Schmidt by Ancar. Somehow, though, the edge of terror and fatigue was blunted. Instead of waking with a start, exhausted and overwrought, he blinked himself awake in the still warm water, with a quiet awareness of Xavier nearby. 

:I'm in the stables, but I can see the door of the bathhouse. If there was danger, I could be there in a moment.: The Mindspeech was overlayed with a feeling of satisfaction and physical pleasure. Erik had the distinct impression of someone scratching between his ears, if his ears were on top of his head.

For the first time, Erik constructed a sentence in his head and pushed it tentatively in Xavier's direction. The water was too warm to move out of yet, and he didn't want to be caught talking to himself in the bath. :What on earth are you doing in there?: 

There was delight in Xavier's reply at communicating in this way. :I'm instructing the stableboy on correct grooming technique. Poor thing, he's been very badly taught.: An image flashed into Erik's mind of the stable boy, barely four feet tall, perched on an upturned bucket while he combed out Xavier's mane with loving care. 

Erik sunk down in the water, and let his arms and legs float, soaking in the warmth. :Sybarite. And now you've turned me into one, too.: It was strange, so strange, to feel loose and relaxed, to have someone safe out there watching the door. He wouldn't say that he trusted Xavier. He didn't know if he had the ability to trust at all. Until tonight, though, he hadn't thought he would ever see the need. 

Later, after a meal of stew, which, while not thick with meat, was at least flavoursome and hot, served with potatoes that sat heavy in his stomach, he took his tankard to his room and sat on the bed. 

:Are you still awake?: he ventured towards the stables. While he waited, he reached into the eaves with his magic and called the loose nails to hand. It was a habit, now. Best not to have metal scraps lying about while he slept. 

:Yes,: said Xavier. :I can see your candle in the window. What are you doing with your magic? It feels very odd.: 

Erik shaped the iron into a long, thin bolt, and sent it flying with a satisfying thud into the lintel, nailing it shut. He did the same for the tiny window, though he didn't think it had been opened in decades. 

:Very innovative,: said Xavier. :Kindly do not become trapped if the inn catches on fire.: 

"I never get trapped anywhere." Erik settled into his bed, and curled onto his side where he could see the door. He remembered the odd, blunt dream from the bathhouse. :Were you in my dreams, before? I don't want you to do that. My dreams are not pleasant.: 

:Not deliberately,: said Xavier. :I'm sorry, yes, I catch the edges of thoughts and dreams, but I would never interfere with them. It's something I'm capable of doing, but I've noticed that interfering with people's dreams is not generally beneficial. Raven used to have nightmares, sometimes, but if I stopped them, the thoughts crept into her waking mind during the day, and left her unsettled. It seems odd to say it, but dreams of that nature seem to serve a purpose of some sort.: 

Erik's breathing was becoming more even. The warmth from the bath was still with him. It was good to be clean and fed and warm, even if sleeping under the same roof as strangers was generally not something he felt safe doing. 

:Tell me about Raven,: Erik said. :I want to hear about the people you've cared for.: What was happening to him was a fairy tale, one with guardian spirits and magic horses and a quest. It helped to hear about Xavier's life. While Erik certainly couldn't tell Xavier about his own life, having a context for this great white creature that had allied with him seemed to make it more real. 

As he was drifting off to sleep, he reminded himself to speak to Xavier about the Mind Bond, and how long it would last. 

\---

Mind Bonds, as far as Raven could tell, were like seedlings, tiny but fierce and determined to survive. For the first day, Armando and Alex barely said a word, and they were almost always in physical contact. While they ambled along the grassy path, she took charge of setting up a campsite. Alex could be prompted to gather wood or carry water from the stream. More complicated tasks, such as "Set the fire" or "Clean the fish" didn't seem to be possible at this stage; Alex just stood there, holding a dead fish in his hand, staring at Armando with his mouth a little bit open. Armando was just as bad; when he wasn't breathing down Alex's neck or standing protectively over him, he was always in the way of things, a huge and awkward wall of white. Once, when Raven moved too quickly into his vision, Armando darted between her and Alex with teeth bared.

Raven dropped her pack and raised her hands, moving slowly so that he could see she wasn't a threat. "It's only me," she said, softly. 

:Raven, I'm sorry.: Armando pushed his nose into her shoulder. :I think I'm still rattled by how close it was in Trevale. I keep thinking - we were going to take the long way around the ford, we usually take a longer break at midday. All those things we didn't do. If we'd done them, we'd have been too late.: His eyes were wide, white all the way around the blue. No wonder he was jumpy.

"You're thinking about this too much," said Raven. She patted his head, then pushed him towards Alex. "It was obviously meant to be this way. Go be with him, and I'll set up camp." 

When the fire was crackling, and there was water on to boil, she showed Alex how to groom Armando. Alex had never worked with horses; as far as Raven could tell from his monosyllabic answers, Alex had never worked with animals of any kind. He threw himself into the business of making Armando comfortable, though, combing out his mane and tail with an expression of furious concentration that would have made Raven laugh if she wasn't feeling so odd. 

She recognised what she was feeling as jealousy the first time Armando settled by the fire. Alex, with the kind of natural ease that came from Mindspeaking, slumped down beside him, leaning against the white body as if Armando were a bed roll. Raven didn't want to be Chosen, she really didn't, but suddenly, Armando was no longer hers to chat with and tease and lean against for warmth. He was Alex's friend now, and she barely knew Alex. She hid a treacherous thought: this is how it will be with Xavier. He will have his Chosen; he won't need me anymore. 

:I am still your friend, stupid.: Armando watched her over the firelight, while Alex dozed against his flank. :Alex is my Chosen. You are my friend. We are complicated creatures. We can manage more than one kind of friendship.: He nudged at Alex's side, and Alex shuffled further along Armando's body without really waking up. :There's room here for you, too.: 

"Don't call me stupid, stupid." Raven spoke softly so as not to wake Alex, but she snatched up her bedroll and wriggled in between the curve of Armando's forefeet and Alex's hip. With two blankets over them, it was much warmer. In the morning, things would seem brighter. 

At dawn, down at the river, Raven took a cursory bath while Alex kept watch. The water was chilly but clear, and deep enough that Raven could dunk herself right under. Alex sat with his back to the water, whittling at a piece of wood with a neat little knife. 

"Do you mind it?" Raven said, suddenly. "Being Chosen, I mean. It's not as though you had much choice in the matter." 

Alex worked the tip of the blade under a burl in the wood. "Maybe? I mean, I look at Armando, and it's all really clear to me. Him and me, we're meant to be together." 

"Don't you worry, though? That he's overwritten something in your mind? Or if that connection you feel is just because he's making you feel it?" 

Alex laughed, suddenly bitter. "Maybe he did. It's better than hanging, though."

Raven got out of the water and wrapped herself in the scrap of blanket she used to dry herself off. She crouched down beside Alex. "You don't have to go with him."

Alex shrugged, and tucked his knife away. "I suppose. But you don't know me. Everything I've done in my life so far amounts to nothing, really. You can try and try to make the world a better place, but if you're nobody, you end up on a gallows. Maybe the reason I have this witch power, Gift, whatever it is, is to help people? At least with Armando, I'm not going to hurt anyone, and that's a much better place than I was before I met you." 

He stood and pulled his shirt over his head. The skin around his throat had come up in a ring of mottled bruises, blooming purple and green where the rope had pulled tight. When he unbuckled his belt, Raven realised she was staring at him. She turned around, blushing suddenly, and sat herself down on the rock he had been occupying while she bathed.

"Still," he called out while he swam. "I'm not too sure about this whole Collegium thing Armando keeps talking about. I thought I was done with schooling when I was six. You've lived there; what's it like? I always thought it was for lord's sons and princesses and so on. Can't imagine I'm going to fit in well there." 

Raven had seen more than a few classes of Heralds-in-training settle into life at the Collegium. "Don't worry. They take all sorts in there." A thought occurred to her. "Did Armando say he was taking you there now?" She'd set out on her own to follow Xavier, and she'd be perfectly able to continue alone, too, but she'd grown very accustomed to having someone with whom to share the journey. 

Alex splashed water at a bird by the edge of the river, and it flew away, shrieking. "No, he's going to finish his mission. Gives him a bit of time to civilise me, he says. I think he prefers having the open road to himself, to be honest. It sounds like his last assignment was a bit too crowded. Hey, I guess you didn't get much choice in the matter, either. Do you mind me travelling with you?" 

Raven didn't bother to hide her grin. "It's a chore, but I guess I can put up with you. For a while." She was up and running to the campsite before Alex could send a wave of river water in her direction. 

\---

By the third day, Erik was sitting more lightly in the saddle, and moving with Xavier instead of against him as they cantered through empty villages and unploughed fields overrun with weeds. Sometimes it seemed they had left the population behind them at the refugee camp. Ahead, the Morningray Mountains loomed closer each day.

Xavier knew better than to ask where all the people were: Hardorn had suffered terrible losses at the hand of their own King. With winter bearing down on them, perhaps it was a blessing that there were fewer mouths to feed because the fields lay fallow and it was doubtful that there was much in in the granaries. Indeed, most of the granaries were burned or torn down. Livestock ran feral, and the few people they saw vanished just as quickly, hiding in ruined buildings or cellars. Xavier did not like the way that Erik's mouth had flattened into a grim line, or that he slept so poorly, even with Xavier keeping watch. 

:Do you know what Schmidt has been doing, since Ancar's death?: Xavier said, on the fourth day. They were following the Kinzua River south upstream, and the going was slower. The roads had been badly kept, and the damage from the autumn rains had not been repaired. Xavier had to pick his way over cracks and missing stones. 

"Keeping his head down, I suspect. Most of Ancar's cronies are - the ones that haven't been torn apart in the streets, anyway." The words from Erik came laden with images of crowds rioting and buildings on fire. Xavier shook his head and banked up his mental shields. The last thing he wanted to do was eavesdrop on the horrors of Erik's past. He was already on uncertain moral ground regarding the Mind Bond. 

You're not lying to him, he told himself. The Mind Bond might go away in time. It's a thing that had never been tested - after all, who wouldn't want to be the Chosen of a Companion? Everyone who had ever been asked had accepted. It had never occurred to Xavier that perhaps the question wasn't really a question at all, and that perhaps it was more of a formality. Perhaps the Chosen said yes, because the Chosen was overwhelmed. It was a troubling concept, and one he wouldn't dare bring to the attention of the Senior Companions. 

Xavier banished those thoughts. It was enough, for now, that he was here with his Chosen, and that his Chosen was willing to work with him. He danced a little as they walked, just for the pleasure of feeling Erik's legs shift against his side, hearing him laugh and feeling his hands on the reins. Nothing had prepared him for the connection he felt with Erik, the joy of being close to him, of waking each morning and knowing he was there. It would be easy to give up his life for his Chosen, and somehow it mattered little that Erik might not feel the same way. Sometimes, Xavier thought, he felt buffeted by huge waves. He wished Raven were here, just to talk to her and perhaps ground himself again. 

"I wonder if he's angling for the crown?" said Erik, suddenly. Xavier shook his head, trying to remember what they were talking about. Ancar. The Smith. "Not that it matters," Erik went on "I'm going to kill the bastard anyway, but it might give us some idea of his movements. He'd be a fool to put a metal crown on his head while I'm still alive," he added grimly. 

:Somehow, I find it hard to believe a crown would mean all that much to Schmidt, from the things you've told me.: Xavier said, carefully. It wasn't the fact that Erik bore a death wish for the Smith, but the blithe talk of taking life that caught at Xavier's heart – that, and the reasons which had forged such blitheness. :I know Hardorn is your home, Erik, so forgive me for saying this, but there's little here to satisfy an ambitious man. This land will be generations rebuilding what it has lost, and only a selfless man would take on that responsibility.: 

"Selfless is not a word that I would use to describe the Smith," Erik said, shortly. "He is ambitious, though." 

:I have seen a little of him through you - I'm sorry, Chosen, I honestly do not mean to pry - stray thoughts, fragments of dreams that show me what a dangerous man he is. I think it would be foolish not to question what his motivations are.: 

Erik ran his hand along the crest of Xavier's neck to show him he wasn't angry. "As long as you understand that he has to die. He had a plan, while Ancar was alive, for a mage-born force. He took Ancar's leavings, and whatever he could scrounge up at the edge of the army's forays, and he had quite the ability to focus those talents." He waved a hand, and the bells, previously held silent, suddenly chimed merrily. "But I suppose, with Ancar gone, so too are the restrictions on the children he can gather." The bells went silent. "I won't have him hurting children, Xavier." 

Finally, something Xavier could agree to without compromise. :Then we shall stop him, my friend.: 

\---

In a mountain valley below the source of the Kinzua, they found some attempts at rebuilding: the trail they were following was cleared of fallen branches, and the deep ruts dug by the army's wagon trains had been filled with crushed rock. They passed a barn, partly burnt but patched with timbers obviously reclaimed from other buildings. 

Xavier felt a surge of power from Erik, and flicked his ears at him questioningly. :Is something wrong?: 

It was the small knife that Erik had reached for, and now he tucked it surreptitiously in the sleeve of his coat. "There's someone watching us from the trees. Can you tell me what he sees?" 

:Of us? I am masking our true appearance. He sees a man on a white horse, nothing spectacular. I shall investigate his thoughts.: Xavier concentrated, extending his mind carefully, so much more confident in his abilities now that his Chosen was with him. :He is a sentry; he is one of thirty survivors who have come together here. They've been lucky enough to find an untouched resupply station, and they're hoping to live off that until winter has passed. Shall I stop him from reporting back?: 

"Let's talk to him first," said Erik, and nudged Xavier forward with his legs. Xavier broke into a smooth trot, his hooves clopping in a friendly fashion over the grass. 

"Ho, in the woods!" said Erik, in Hardornen with a broad city accent. He spoke with the kind of cheer that would be reassuring, thought Xavier, if you weren't aware that he was bristling with sharp edges: knives and darts and needles all poised to thud into this poor sentry's body if he made a threatening move. 

The man - barely a man, really, he was still leggy and awkward with youth - ducked down from his perch in the largest tree at the edge of the copse. "Wh - who are you? What do you want?" 

"We're passing through," said Erik. "Headed up to the lake. Have you had the news? Ancar is dead." 

"We've heard," said the boy. "Not that it means much to us." 

:He's hedging his bets,: said Xavier. :He's not sure if you're one of Ancar's men or not. And he's seen more than one well-dressed man go past here on their way to the lake.: 

He felt the clench of Erik's power, and pranced a little beneath him to catch his attention. :Patience, my friend. These are frightened people, they will easily misinterpret your anger as a threat.: 

Erik took a breath, and Xavier felt his body relax, his legs lengthen against Xavier's sides. "I've been sent to check on my lord's estates on the lakeside. Can you tell me, has there been much looting up there?" He spread his hands wide. "Not that there was much of value to take - and you'd be welcome to any of the perishables. I'm to take account of the damage and report to Crown City." 

The boy's shoulders were still tense. "No, nobody's been up there since the bridge collapsed." 

Xavier pricked his ears forward. :There's something odd about the way he says that.: 

Erik leaned back in the saddle, resting a hand on Xavier's rump as if he were the broad-backed plough horse Erik had learned to ride upon. "Bad storms, then? Lots of rubbish washing downstream?" 

The boy shivered and turned towards the forest. "You'd better come and speak to Goodman Duncan." 

:Things are not what they seem here,: Erik spoke carefully with his mind as he sat upright and nudged Xavier forward. :Be alert, and be careful.: 

:And you, Chosen.: Xavier picked his feet up carefully as they moved through the underbrush. 

"Don't call me that!" Erik snapped, irritably. "No, no," he said to the young man when he looked over his shoulder. "Just talking to myself." 

The youth led them to a clearing in the trees, where a forester's cabin had been seconded as a base of operations. Men and women worked at laundry and woodcutting, while others tended pots sitting over a huge communal firepit. All of them started when Xavier and Erik emerged from the woods behind the young man, and several reached for axes and hoes. 

A sturdy man in a leather apron hurried forward with a scythe propped on his shoulder. Xavier expected Erik to bristle at the obvious threat, but instead he felt Erik ease his power along the steel in the curved blade, and then settle, reassured that he could control the weapon if he had to. 

"And who have you brought to us, Hank?" Goodman Duncan's face was cautiously friendly; he had assessed the newcomers, and decided that, should the need arise, his people would be able to overwhelm them. Xavier's cursory inspection of Duncan's mind showed a man with basically good intentions, but one whose generosity had been sorely tested during the war. 

"I'm Erik, passing through to the lake. I bring news from Crown City: the king is dead, and Hardorn is without rule." Erik was really very good at this, thought Xavier, watching the way people drew close just to hear news. 

"We've heard as much; we've heard that Valdemar is pushing in on our borders, too," said Duncan. "That's a fine white horse you're riding, sir, if you don't mind me saying." 

Xavier started as if he'd been stung by a fly, swishing his tail in irritation. :How can they recognise me? I'm masking my appearance and they've never a seen a Companion, none of them!: 

:They may never have seen a Companion, but they do know they're white. Perhaps next time you should appear piebald.: Erik's mental voice was dry and calm, and Xavier concentrated on imitating that state of being. 

"This jumpy thing?" Erik said to Duncan. He bounced a hand off Xavier's withers as if to indicate how unlikely that would be. "This is my master's palfrey, and he hasn't a scrap of brains between these ears. My master will be so pleased it could pass as one of the witch horses. Might add a bit to the price when we sell him on. No, there's no invasion. Ancar kept them busy enough on the borders that they're still licking their wounds." 

"Good. We've got no time for witchbreed scum," said a heavy-set man with an axe clasped in both hands. "We've seen enough of magic and witches and their like for a lifetime." He spat on the ground in disgust. "That goes for that bitch queen and her horde of white devils, too." 

"Seen your share of magic, here, then?" Erik leaned forward, conspiratorially. "You should have seen Crown City, in the last days before Ancar bought it. The castle used to glow green." 

The crowd around him shuddered. Goodman Duncan nodded. "Yes, we've seen our share of magic. We're not having any more of it - we're all good, simple people here, and none of us want any part of Ancar's beliefs."

Xavier snorted, rudely. :He's a fool. This place is crawling with magic. I'm surprised they can't feel it. I'm surprised it hasn't manifested in their children.: He flicked his ears forward nervously. The lanky young man who had shown them through the forest had crept to the rear of the group, and kept his head dipped low. 

:Yes,: said Erik. :Where are the children?: To the group, he nodded politely. "Your sentry mentioned the bridge over the Kinzua Falls had collapsed. Is it truly impassable? I'm not familiar with the terrain, but I understand I'll need to cross the river further downstream." 

"What's your business on the lake, again?" said Duncan. 

Xavier caught a memory fragment, so strong perhaps because more than one person in the group was recalling the moment. Billowing smoke, and flame leaping high over the timbers of the bridge; the villages prying struts off the bridge itself while it burned around them. The skinny, lanky youth scrambling bravely over the charred but intact span with a heavy iron bar in his hand and striking at the smoking timbers until they crumbled beneath him. The boy moved with incredible grace, scampering hand over hand as the bridge fell away behind him, and his pride showed on his face as the villagers cheered him and clapped him on the back. 

:The boy - I think he's mage gifted, like you, Erik!: he said, suddenly, excited and elated to find yet another person with magical abilities. 

The villagers turned as one to look at Xavier, with faces pale in horror and mouths open. At the rear of the crowd, the dark-headed boy swallowed visibly and stepped backwards. 

:Xavier,: said Erik, slowly. :What have you done?: 

Xavier frantically checked his mental shields - this hadn't happened for so long - and yes, it seemed that while he was carefully investigating the villagers' memories of the bridge, his shielding had lowered enough that he was broadcasting as he spoke. 

"We don't mean any trouble," Erik started. The crowd pushed forward for a moment, and Xavier bunched his muscles, ready to bolt. Then, the large man with the axe wheeled on the boy at the rear of the group. 

"He's one of them! Been living among us, pretending he's one of us! I always knew there was something unnatural about that boy." 

Xavier danced nervously. :They're going to hurt him, it's my fault. Erik! We have to help him!: 

"Wait," said Erik, and shifted him sideways with a press of one leg. "Move, around the perimeter." The two of them moved, Xavier prancing in agitation, slowly drifting around the edge of the group, never moving fast enough to draw attention to themselves.

"I… I'm not, I'm not what he says, I'm not," Hank stammered and backed up as the crowd bore down on him. 

"He called to the witch horse and led his rider in to our clearing! He's working with them on the lake!" This from a woman with a shovel in one hand and a heavy wooden club in the other. "I never trusted the freak. He's half-animal as it stands, what's stopping him from tearing out our throats in the night?" 

Duncan moved through the crowd. "Everyone calm down – Hank is a friend, he helped bring down the bridge, he's one of us." 

"Where's he from, then? Who are his people?" The woman swung her club at the boy's head and he cringed away. 

"My people are gone," said Hank, in a whisper. "I was away at school, you know that, I've told you. I came home to nothing, it was all burned." 

Even Goodman Duncan's face turned thoughtful at this lack of information. 

"We've only got his word for that," said the man with the axe. "He could have been sent to watch us." 

"Why would I do that? There's nothing here to watch!" Hank still retreated with his hands up, and the crowd slowly pushed him towards the wall of the cabin. 

"Listen to him! He's been listening to all our secrets, and now he's laughing at us!" The man with the axe raised it high in the air. 

"Now," said Erik, and leaned forward in the saddle with his legs pressed hard at Xavier's sides. Xavier leapt forward into the crowd, bowling men and women over as he surged through. The axe began to fall, but just as it was close enough to part Hank's hair, it slowed and reversed. Xavier, working directly in contact with Erik's mind, moved as an extension of his body, and brushed close to the boy. Erik reached down without looking, caught Hank's elbow and hoisted him up on Xavier's behind him. Then Xavier was off, legs flying through the forest with none of the concern he'd had earlier for holes or fallen logs. The landscape spilled out ahead of him; he saw every safe place for his feet, ducked and wove between trees as if he had always roamed this forest. It wasn't until he slowed and turned downstream to where the river ran deep but narrow that he realised he was using Hank's knowledge of the terrain to guide him. Here, the river was too deep to cross, but narrow enough to jump: he bunched his hindquarters on the last stride of solid ground and leapt like a deer right over the rushing water. Erik leaned low over his neck as he jumped, and Hank hung on with preternatural balance, then Xavier's forefeet were down on the other side, and they were galloping uphill. 

They ran for a long time, faster and over rougher terrain than an ordinary horse could deal with. Xavier had never had to call on these abilities before, but this was why he had them: to keep people safe, to make extraordinary distance in emergency situations. When the village and the cluster of angry minds that inhabited it were far behind them, and the light was beginning to fade, he slowed his pace to a canter, and then a stumbling trot. His feet had forgotten where they were supposed to be; he tripped briefly, then continued moving. 

"Enough!" said Erik, and vaulted off while Xavier was still moving. :Xavier, stop!: This last order, sent mind to mind, brought Xavier to an immediate halt. 

:Chosen, I am so sorry.: Xavier's sides heaved, and he could feel foam on his neck and flanks. :I put that boy in danger, I put you in danger.: 

Erik caught him by the reins and reeled him in, folding his arms around Xavier's head and pushing it into his chest. He stroked Xavier's neck gently for a moment, while Xavier's breathing slowed. "You made a mistake, but you saved that boy's life. Now, come on, let's walk. I may have only ridden cart horses, but I know you need to cool down slowly." He led Xavier between the trees at a steady, slow pace, and Xavier was content to follow mindlessly. This was his Chosen, and his Chosen knew what was right. 

He heard, through a mist of fatigue, Erik barking orders at Hank to build a fire and get water heating. Later, as his body cooled and he started to shiver, Erik slung a blanket over his back, but kept him walking. Finally, when Xavier's breathing had returned to normal and the sweat had dried on his sides, Erik led him to the campfire, and let him drink water, just a little at a time, heated to take the chill off it.

Hank, still following instruction quite gladly, had strung three small birds on green sticks slung across the coals. Over the fire hung a kettle with enough water for tea and a hot mash with the little grain that Erik carried in their saddlebags. 

:I'm sorry,: Xavier said to Hank, as he nosed through the warm grain Erik fed him by the handful. 

Hank started, stared at Xavier, and shrugged. "Um, I suppose it was going to happen eventually. Someone was going to see me bathing or sneak up on me while I was dressing." He ducked his head and blushed furiously. 

"Hank isn't like the people he was living with," said Erik, and fetched the grooming kit. "He's quite remarkable."

Xavier closed his eyes in pleasure as Erik started working with the brush to loosen the sweat caked onto his skin. :Did you use your gifts to bring the bridge down, Hank?: 

"Uh," said Hank. He still jumped every time Xavier spoke to him, as if he had not quite accepted the fact that Xavier could talk. "I guess? I've got good grip, and good balance. And these…" He held up one bare foot. Even in the darkness Xavier could see the breadth of it, and the long and nimble toes that were more like fingers. "They're hard to hide," he said, with chagrin. "Harder still when you don't have a shoemaker on your side. I don't think my boots were going to make it through this upcoming winter. Everyone would have seen when my toes started poking out of the holes." 

Later, when he was clean and fed and very sleepy, Xavier stood behind Erik, with his muzzle resting on Erik's head. Erik forked steaming hot meat into his mouth with great efficiency; Hank ate slightly slower, and with a cautious grip on the fork Erik had shaped for him from the spare iron fragments he always seemed to have on his person. 

:Hank, why did you destroy the bridge? What's up on the lake that terrifies everyone? Is this why you're eating starling and not fish?: 

Hank promptly choked on a bone, and had to stand up to cough frantically until his throat was clear. 

Erik reached behind him and gave Xavier a little shove. "Just because you can talk without moving your lips doesn't mean you can have a conversation while we're having dinner. Let the boy eat." 

"I'm fine," said Hank and sat down on the fallen log he'd pulled close to the fire. "Uh, there's always been something odd up on Red Stag Lake. Everyone knows, you don't go up there alone, you don't go up there if you're…" 

"Gifted," said Erik. His voice was steel striking on stone, and Xavier nuzzled at his ear. 

Hank shrugged, and sipped his tea. "I was studying in Crown City - I was the first person in my village to go to the city, you see. There were always rumours of conscription, I didn't worry about it, because they stayed away from the colleges. But one day, I came back from lectures, and there were soldiers at the dormitories, turfing all of our things into the street. I didn't stay. I can imagine what you're thinking, but I'm not a coward. I'll fight if I have to. But there was no way I could live in a barracks, and not be found out. It was hard enough at university. And if someone in the army found out what I was, I was as good as dead." 

:It's all right, Hank. We understand, there's no need to be ashamed of keeping yourself safe.: 

"I'm not very proud of it. I guess most of my classmates ended up in the army; they're probably dead." Hank kept his gaze on his feet. "I knew there was something wrong when I got to Grenam; most of the town was burned, and people were just gone. I stole a horse, and I rode out to find my family, but there was nothing left there. No buildings, no bodies, nothing. I've had no news – did they escape?" 

Xavier stepped closer to his Chosen, tried to take some of the tension from his body. 

"Goodman Duncan, he found me there. He rode out every day, he said, searching for survivors and people coming home to the villages around Kinzua. He said we could form a new community, one that didn't answer to anyone but themselves. I was hungry, it seemed the best idea. I didn't mean to deceive them." 

"You didn't deceive them," Erik said, sharply. "You had every right to live there, as much as they did. Maybe more, judging from their behaviour." 

"Maybe," said Hank. "A few months ago, we started to see the lights over the lake again. Sometimes a body – we think it was a body, anyway - would wash down the river. A month ago, Goodman Duncan said the best thing to do was take down the bridge. Without it, there's no crossing the river with anything heavier than a pack on your back - no carts, no supplies, that meant no lights over the water." 

:What kind of something?: said Xavier, curiously. :I can see you don't want to think about it, Hank, but we need to know what sort of danger we're heading towards.: 

"Why are there no children among your group?" Erik interrupted, suddenly. "There should be babes in arms and swollen bellies; there were plenty of women there." 

Hank sounded surprised. "I hadn't thought about it. Uh, I suppose people were, um…" He blushed again, and stared down at his feet, kicking at the coals in front of him. 

:Yes,: said Xavier. :People were together. Nobody in that collective is pregnant. Some of them think they are barren, some of them think they are too old. That seems statistically unlikely to me.: 

"Did you… did you read that from their minds?" Hank was appalled and yet fascinated. "Can you read anything? Can I stop you from reading things?" 

"Why would you want to stop him?" asked Erik, suspiciously. 

Hank's face turned a deep, deep red colour, and he stammered incoherently, then snatched up the empty bucket, ostensibly to collect more water. 

Erik turned to Xavier with narrowed eyes. "What's he so ashamed of?" 

:Only what every boy his age is ashamed of,: said Xavier. :Honestly, I'm glad I've got hooves instead of hands, or I'd have wasted a lot of my youth, too.: He nudged at Erik's shoulder gently. :Be gentle with the boy, Erik. He's awkward and frightened, but I believe he can be trusted.: 

"There's something going on at the lake," Erik said. He reached up with one hand to brush the soft skin on Xavier's muzzle. "Thank you for diverting me, I could have wasted months climbing the wrong mountains." 

Xavier leaned into his hand like a cat being stroked. :I very much enjoy working with you, Erik.: 

Erik snorted. "As long as you let me do the talking, I'm happy to continue." 

When Hank returned, hauling a bucket so full it sloshed over the edge and onto his bare feet, Erik stood up and took the handle to help him carry it. He nodded towards the bedroll. "You go and sleep. I'll keep watch." 

Hank nodded gratefully and curled up under the blanket. Erik threw the last log on the fire and put the water on to boil; after Hank's stories, he had little trust of the river water. Xavier stepped over the fallen log they had been using for a seat, turned in a dainty circle in the long grass then settled down on the ground. :You sleep, Chosen. I can watch much further than either of you can, and I'm rested enough.: 

"Don't call me that," Erik muttered, but he found a comfortable place for his back against Xavier's belly, and leaned up to watch the sky. "Schmidt is doing something vile on Red Stag Lake." 

:I think so, yes.: Xavier curled his head around so that Erik could scratch his ears. :I would try to See in that direction, but after today's adventures, I don't dare risk it. Not until I've seen the terrain, and what exactly is up there.: 

"Don't blame yourself," Erik said. "We all make stupid mistakes when we're starting out." 

:You were too young.: Xavier brushed his lips over Erik's hair, and whuffled in his ear. :When you were making those stupid mistakes, you were a child. I'm not a child; I have to do better for you.: 

"Sometimes you're as good as a child," said Erik. "Sometimes it seems you've never been out in the world in your life. Makes me wonder why they sent you after me. They must have more experienced Companions in that big Field of theirs." 

:Oh, Chosen,: said Xavier. :Nobody sent me anywhere. You called to me, and I came.: 

Erik laughed softly, and pulled at Xavier's ears, then spoke to his mind. :I don't know if that's good or madness." 

:Probably madness,: admitted Xavier. :But I'm glad to be here nonetheless.: 

\---

When Alex first saw Raven's natural form, he dropped an armful of logs and split open one of his boots, but he didn't unleash his own magic. 

"Are you all right? Your toe is bleeding!" Raven scrambled from her bedroll and slipped into her usual form, the blonde girl with the round face. She bent to gather up the logs, but stopped when she realised he was still staring. There was no anger there, though; just a stunned surprise.

She thumped the logs into his arms one by one. "Stop it! You burned down a palisade. I'm blue. It's not that much different." 

"It was only part of the palisade," Alex rallied, holding the logs in position. He pointed at the laundry drying over the branches of the shrubs by the river. "Why do you wear clothes, if you can just make them with your body?"

"It was enough of the palisade for them to build a gallows," said Raven. She shifted into a long gown, such as they wore at court, with golden cloth draped from her shoulders and a pair of embroidered slippers. "I can copy any clothes I've seen, but leather still chafes my skin and I do a lot of riding." She slapped her rear in a most unladylike way. "It's breeches or it's blisters, my friend." 

Armando gave a low whickering laugh, and Alex turned on him with a grin. "Don't you start, mister." 

They'd been camping at a Waystation on the Karsite border for a week now, for what Armando called bonding time. As far as Raven could tell, this was a process that involved Alex lounging on Armando's back, drifting here and there through the long grass, talking in Mind Speech and mooning around. It was important, Armando said, to allow the Mind Bond to flourish between Companion and Chosen, especially when the Choosing was something done quickly and with little forethought. 

:Some of us know, from birth almost, the person we're going to Choose, but that was never me,: he said, one night, by the fire. 

Raven poked at the skewers of meat sitting on the coals. Alex had been filling in her education on the finer aspects of living off the land, and she was proud to have set the snares for these coneys herself. "Maybe Xavier is doing the same thing too, with his Chosen?" It was easier to imagine Xavier wandering dreamily through fields of wildflowers, deep in mental conversation with his Chosen, than it was to see the very practical Armando daydreaming with Alex draped over his body. Xavier would like it, she thought, and hoped he was safe and happy, wherever he was.

"Why do you think people hate magic so much?" she asked Alex, as they were stacking logs inside the Waystation, for the next Herald that needed dry firewood. 

Alex kicked his stack of logs into better shape. "The war was bad," he said. "Lots of scary things happened. There was a cloud of insects, they'd zoom in from the Hardornen border, and kill people, then vanish. And other stuff. Worse stuff." 

:There used to be a boundary around Valdemar, to stop magic from working inside our borders,: said Armando. :It's gone now; part of why magic is returning, both as a threat and as an ally.:

"Is that why Alex can do whatever it is that brought down the palisade?" said Raven. 

:It's possible,: said Armando. :We Companions act as if we know what's going on, but I'll be honest with you; it's been generations since we were handling magic in that state, and we're as lost as the rest of the country.: 

Raven poked Alex in the side. "What did you do, anyway? Why won't you show me?" 

"Because it's none of your business." Alex said. "Because it would be really funny if I set you on fire, wouldn't it?"

:It's all right, Alex. I said I wouldn't let you hurt anyone. Maybe this is a good place for a demonstration.: Armando walked over to where Alex stood. :Better to practise here than somewhere populated, anyway.: 

Alex gave him an anguished look, and Armando butted him with his nose. "Fine," said Alex. "But it's your funeral." He vaulted onto Armando and nudged him in the direction of the river. "And I'm doing it where I can't set anything on fire this time." 

Raven stood behind a tree, while Armando plodded obligingly into the river until he was chest deep in water. 

"Are you sure about this, horse?" Alex rested one hand on Armando's crest. "If I hurt you, I don't think I could stand it." 

Armando stamped his foot in the water. :You're not going to be able to hurt me. And I will protect Raven. Alex, this is a good thing. Don't be afraid of this ability.: 

Alex exhaled slowly. "All right. Let's do it." He let his hands hang down for a moment, then flung them forward, while he twisted his body in an odd, uncomfortable angle. 

:Try to aim it,: said Armando. :That log in the middle of the river.: 

"Hells, horse! I'm trying to concentrate." Alex assumed the posture again. 

Raven shook her head. There was a feeling as if a storm was gathering and her ears wanted to pop. Then rings of red light burst from Alex's chest in concentric circles that shot forward as a column. The rings cut into the river with a sizzle, then the dead tree floating on the surface of the water exploded into the air with an enormous splash. It landed on the far bank, smoking and steaming in the bright sunlight. 

Alex leaned back, arms propped on Armando's rump. "Huh," he said, clearly pleased with himself. 

:I told you I could focus it.: Armando moved through the water with a swish, and stepped up onto the bank beside Raven. 

"That was fantastic!" Raven clapped her hands together in delight.

Alex shrugged. "I mean, what use is it? I can't start a fire with it, unless I want to burn the whole house down. I can't cut wood, unless I want to set it on fire at the same time. And I guess it would be very useful to the army, but I don't want to be someone's weapon." 

:There's a reason I chose you,: said Armando. :With me, you get to choose when you use it. And nobody gets to use you.: 

That was a sobering thought. It was easy, on this pastoral romp, to forget that Valdemar was a nation technically still at war with its neighbours. And with wizards able to use magic inside the borders, Alex's ability was a valuable commodity. 

Alex shook himself, as if ridding himself of bad memories. "I'd rather let them hang me." 

"Nobody's hanging anyone," said Raven. "Come on, let's get packed up. I want to find Xavier and make sure he's safe." 

Armando snorted. :Good idea. He's always been kind of gullible.: He shied sideways to avoid Raven's slap, and danced away with Alex aboard in the direction of the Waystation. 

\---

Hostilities had supposedly ceased between Valdemar and Karse, but as the border approached, people still regarded Alex and Armando with suspicion, closing their doors and refusing to do business with them. Raven took to riding ahead, purchasing supplies and meeting up with the others on the other side of the village. 

At the refugee camp, though, where crowds of Hardornen people had fled the frontline of battle with Valdemar, there was a general air of festivity. At the sight of a Companion, Valdemaran troops broke formation and waved in delight. Children young enough to have heard fairy tales of Heralds rather than horror stories of White Riders and their devil spawn mounts, flocked around Armando, clinging to his knees and tail. Alex seemed a little bemused by the adulation, but much less fearful now that he had demonstrated some control over his power. 

"'Ere, you'll be after that Companion who went riding out?" A guardsman with a peg-leg stepped out of the crowd. "He was 'ere a fortnight past. Thought he was going to choose one of our orphans here." He tugged gently on a little girl's pigtail, and she giggled, wide-eyed at the idea. 

Raven leapt from her bay, and dragged the unenthusiastic animal with her as she hurried over to talk to the man. "You saw him? Was he well?" 

The guardsman laughed. "Worried about him, are you? Don't be, he was just fine. All fancy in his bells and barding, just as pleased as punch with himself, if you don't mind me saying." 

"Which direction did he take out of the camp?" Alex, prompted by Armando, was asking the sensible question. 

The guard pointed over the tents, towards the mountain peak on the Karsite side of the border. "He prowled around here for a few hours, sticking his nose in tents, and under wagons. He searched everywhere, didn't he?" He made a face at the children at his feet, and they exploded in giggles. 

"He looked in a barrel!" A small boy exclaimed. "He put his nose right in!" 

"I said he should see under the washing basket," added another boy, this one with his arm in a sling. "I said 'Maybe your Herald is under there!' and he turned it right over with his foot!" 

"Spilled all the laundry out, too, if I remember right." The guard grimaced at the little boy. "Goody Boucher chased him away with a wooden spoon." 

This was apparently the very height of humour, for the children were by now rolling around on the ground, clutching their bellies, semi-hysterical with laughter. 

The guardsman watched them fondly. "He was just playing with them, your Companion friend. Thank him for that, when you catch him. It was good to see a few smiles. But last I saw, he was heading out of camp towards the Armor Hills." 

Raven shaded her eyes as she peered up at the hills: they were steep, and there was snow on the caps. "Well, upwards we go, then." 

They didn't stay long in the camp - though nobody was going hungry here, it was obvious that food was being rationed and that quantities were not as generous as they could be. Raven led her horse through the tents towards the path to the mountain. 

Alex rode beside her. "That's a fair hike. Hope there's somewhere for us to provision; we'll need blankets and feed if we're heading into snow." 

"Why would his Chosen be up a mountain?" Although it was good to have news that Xavier had been well and happy two weeks ago, Raven was still worried. 

:Why was my Chosen on a gallows? Sometimes it's just the way things go,: said Armando. 

At the last tent, a woman sat on an upturned basket. Old and weathered, she held a woven bag in her lap. At the approach of hooves, she turned to them. "Today's the day I'm supposed to wait for a raven," she said, with a toothless grin. "Don't know how I'm supposed to tell one raven from another, but when I find the right one, I'm to give it this bag." 

Raven frowned. "They call me Raven," she said, hesitantly. 

The woman's face cleared. "Oh, a girl called Raven! Well, I have to say, that makes a lot more sense. She could have explained that a lot more clearly. Here you are, dear." She passed the bag up to Raven. "Now, you're to go south from here, for a day and a half, and find the inn with the broken sign." She leaned closer to Raven, and whispered conspiratorially. "The second part is much clearer, if you ask me."

South was away from the mountains, in the opposite direction to what they had been told. 

"Who told you this?" Alex said, though it was clear that the words were Armando's. 

"Didn't catch her name, but she was a polite lady. Had a pretty white horse, just like you," the woman chucked Armando under the chin, and he started in surprise. 

Raven loosened the cord on the bag, and opened it. There was a parcel of pastries, wrapped up in a clean linen cloth, and they smelled fresh and delicious. Under the pastries she found a bundle of clothes, and a note on a folded piece of paper. With a cry of recognition, Raven pulled out a set of Herald greys - the uniform for a Herald-in-training. The note had her name written on the outside, and she opened it up, incredulous. 

The handwriting was neat and businesslike - no flourishes or curlicues. 

_Hello Raven,_

_The greys are for Armando's Chosen, please pass them on. The socks are for you - you've worn yours thin, and you don't want to get a chilblain. Please follow Margrat's instructions, and be at the inn with the broken sign in a day and a half,_

_I'm looking forward to meeting you,_

_Irene._

The roads to the south made for a more pleasant ride; Raven was glad that they weren't scaling a mountain. While they rode, Armando puzzled over the meaning of the letter. 

:There's only one Herald called Irene, and I doubt it's her. She doesn't travel much, except from library to library. She's more of an historian than a Herald.: 

"Maybe she's newly Chosen," said Alex. He was wearing the greys, and Raven was surprised at how they transformed him instantly into a familiar figure. Logically, nothing had changed for Alex other than putting on a different set of clothes. Or maybe it had changed - there was something in the way he sat atop Armando, something in the set of his shoulders, or a change in the way that he expected people to react to him. Uniforms were strange things. 

:Maybe,: said Armando, doubtfully. 

They threaded a path around the edge of the forest. This part of Hardorn had been less touched by the war with Valdemar, though this close to Karse meant that it had always been harried by raiders. Still, if there were fewer buildings, there were also fewer burned buildings. 

A day after leaving the refugee camp, they started to see signs of organised agriculture: harrowed and planted fields ready for harvest, cattle at pasture and a rebuilt aquifer carrying water to rows of swedes and turnips. People in the fields watched them warily, but did not flee. In the afternoon of the second day, as soon as the farmers saw Armando's white form, they would all point south.

:I see that we're expected,: Armando said, warily. 

The inn did indeed have a broken sign, but the sign was hanging from a building with a newly thatched roof and a stream of smoke curling from the chimney. On the grassy verge beside the inn, a white horse flung her head up as soon as they came into view, then bolted towards them, tail a pennant streaming behind her. 

Armando snorted in recognition. :Destiny. And Destiny's Irene, I suppose.: 

While the Companion closed the gap between them, behind her, from the open door of the inn, a woman in Herald Whites appeared. Raven laughed; it was easy to tell from the woman's posture that she was expecting to ride to meet them, but now her Companion was gone. She tilted her head in the direction of her Companion disappearing into the distance, then she grabbed a cane and set off after her. 

:Armando!: Destiny thundered to a halt in clatter of hooves before them. Alex's body tensed: for a moment, it seemed the two Companions were going to collide, but Destiny stopped nimbly, just close enough to press her nose to Armando's. She danced in delight, tail kinked up and nostrils flared. :You've Chosen! I'm so happy for you!: 

:Destiny,: said Armando, with immense dignity that made Raven want to giggle. :Yes, this is Alex, my Chosen. I thought that you and Irene were studying at Forst Reach.: 

Destiny tossed her head, and her forelock settled over her brow in a rakish, tangled manner. :We were, until a half-year ago, when Irene said we had to ride south.: She rolled her eyes, but her expression was affectionate. :You know how it is. Or you will, anyway.: 

Raven nudged the sides of her bay, and he ambled further down the road towards the Herald. The woman held the cane low as she walked, sweeping it in front of her. When it tapped or brushed a particularly large stone, she shifted her path to avoid it. Raven had seen blind people walking in a similar way in the city. By the time she was close enough to see Irene's face, the smoked glass lenses confirmed it. 

"Raven, is it?" The woman turned in her direction. "That's not a Companion's hooves I hear." 

Raven let the bay ease to a halt. "I'm Raven, yes." She watched the woman with curiosity. "How did you know my name? At the camp, you told that old woman to wait for a Raven." 

"Margrat," said Irene. "She has four great-grandsons, imagine. Or, perhaps she's going to have them." She laughed and held out her hand. "I'm so glad to meet you." 

Raven dismounted, and took Irene's hand. The sun was very hot, for so late in the afternoon, and the air around them was clear and sweet. She stood there for a long moment, holding Irene's hand. 

"I feel it too," said Irene, though Raven hadn't said anything. "Sometimes the world turns around a single point in time, just for those few minutes. Shall we join the others?" 

Raven tugged the bay's head up from the grass on the wayside, and they walked together down the road. "Are you one of those people who never answers questions?" Raven asked. 

"Well, some of them are difficult to answer," said Irene. "Some of them I don't even have the answers to give. Let me see…" She walked in silence for a few strides. "My Gift is Foresight, but it's a particularly contrary kind of Foresight, and one that sees a long way into the future. So, last year, I knew that I would meet a woman called Raven towards the end of summer. I knew that it would be at the inn with a broken sign, and I knew that we might become friends. That's not an obligation, mind you."

Raven shook her head. "I don't feel obliged, don't apologise." There was something very easy to like about Irene. She watched her walk, upright and a little cautious over the uneven surface of the road. Irene was thirty or so, which, for a Herald, was old enough to be deemed a veteran, and indeed, there were streaks of grey in Irene's light brown hair. 

"So, from that, it followed that you'd be at the Karse border around that time. And when I questioned why that might be, the rest fell into place: Armando would find his Chosen, Raven would search for her friend Xavier, and Xavier would need her help." 

"Xavier needs my help?" Raven clutched at Irene's arm. "Why didn't you say that first? Margrat was right, you don't explain things very well." 

"Margrat said that?" Irene's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Raven, things don't always unravel the way that I would expect. Xavier will need your help, but we're in time to find him. This is exactly where you're supposed to be." 

Destiny danced towards Irene, and nosed her gently. Irene reached a hand up to scruff her mane. "Why did you just leave me standing in the road? Silly horse." 

:I'm sorry, dearest! I was overwhelmed! Armando has Chosen, and he always said he never would." Destiny was pretty - all Companions were pretty - but her head was dished and her eyes were wide, and there was a curl to her forelock that was particularly fetching. :Is this her, then?: 

"This is Raven, Destiny. Be polite." Irene's voice was filled with laughter, even if her expression was serious. 

Raven held out her hand. "Hello, Destiny." It was odd, how important it seemed that she and Destiny got along, how much of an impediment a Herald's Companion could make herself if she wanted to come between a Herald and a friend. 

Destiny watched her with those cool blue eyes, and Raven felt her trailing through her mind, a sensation both similar and vastly different to when Xavier had first intruded there. Whatever Destiny saw, however, must have pleased her, because she arched her neck over Raven's hands and nibbled at the fingers. 

:Hello, Raven. Be nice to my Irene.: 

Raven closed her mind, the way that Xavier had taught her. :You don't have anything to fear from me, but that's the only time you get to pick through my thoughts. If that's all right with you.: 

Destiny stepped away. :I think we understand each other. Good.: 

Irene raised her eyebrows. "Are we going to be able to travel together, then? Because from tomorrow morning, we're going to need to move quite swiftly." 

Raven nodded, and beckoned Alex and Armando over. "Irene says that Xavier's going to need our help, and that we're going to be riding fast for a bit." 

"We can set out tomorrow," said Irene. "Tonight, there's a good meal for everyone, and a safe place to sleep." 

"Where are we going?" asked Alex, still on Armando's back. "And why are we going there?" 

Irene reached out to touch his knee. "Alex, hello. We're going to Red Stag Lake; there's going to be a confrontation." 

Later that night, Raven was more comfortable than she'd been since leaving Haven. She was decently clean for the first time, after a hot bath with good soap, and it seemed ridiculously luxurious to have eaten a huge meal she hadn't had to provision or cook herself. Alex, as sleepy and clean as she was, had somehow dragged himself to the stables to check on the Companions one last time before bed. Raven couldn't even prise herself out of the comfortable armchair pulled up by the fire. Next to her, perched on a wooden bench, Irene scratched a pen into a journal with ease belied by her lack of sight. She dipped her pen in the inkpot with uncanny accuracy, and paused while the nib dripped into the pot. 

"Long practice," she said, though Raven had not made comment. 

"How did you…?" Raven blushed, realising she had been caught staring. She scrabbled for a more useful question. "Is this how Foresight works?"

Irene smiled, and put the pen to paper again. "This is how living among everyday people works. And the answer is that I have been sitting here every night, long enough to know exactly the layout of journal, pen and inkpot." She rifled the journal and showed Raven a page full of blots. "When I first arrived here, things were a lot less smooth. As is often the way." 

Raven pulled her knees to her chin and watched Irene write. She felt heady with warmth and a full belly, as well as Irene's promise that that nothing would be made worse by them resting for one night. "Who do you write the journals for? Do you ever read them?" 

Irene's pen stilled a moment, then resumed. "I write them for anyone who cares to read them. Myself, sometimes; I don't always remember the little details, so far in advance. Often I don't understand what I've written until the events are unfolding. Sometimes after the event; hindsight can be terribly cruel." She passed the journal to Raven. "Open any page, you'll see what I mean." 

Curious, Raven flicked through the journal. Each page was filled from edge to edge with long rambling sentences that seemed to start in the middle of a thought and end just as abruptly. Sometimes, Irene had written charts of numbers with no explanation. Occasionally there was the sketch of a face or a building. She stopped at a page that showed a winged woman soaring through sunbeams towards an ominous sky. 

"You're very quiet," said Irene, unsurprised. "What page?" 

"I knew a girl who could fly." Raven traced a finger over the lines on the page. The wings were nothing like Angel's - they were broad and feathered - but there was something about the way the shafts of light fell around her that hurt so much. This was a memory from a happier time, when Angel trusted her, and Raven thought the world was full of wonderful things. 

Irene sighed and shifted on the bench. "She is hard to see, that one. Sometimes she overcomes and sometimes she falls, and there is no outside force that affects her fate. It's difficult, when a person's future depends entirely on their own choices." 

Chilled, Raven closed the journal with a snap and handed it to Irene. "Don't all our futures depend on our choices?" 

"We tell ourselves that's the case. Most people tell themselves there's reason underpinning what happens in our lives," said Irene. Her hands brushed Raven's as she took her journal. "I've found, though, you can foresee everything that's ahead and still be surprised by the way it unfolds. Sometimes the best thing we can do is forgive ourselves for wanting to control outcomes, and get on with each day." 

\---

When their small group rounded the last bend to the crater that formed Red Stag Lake, Erik was surprised to see a pleasant lakeside vista. He had been expecting foetid waters dripping with slime and eldritch magic, but instead there were gently sloping meadows, green and velvety, that eased down to calm, blue waters of the lake. The lake itself was vast, broad enough that Erik could not see to the other shore, but he could see no vessels on that still surface. There were few buildings here, but those that he could see appeared to be lavish. County homes, he thought, places to come for leisure. But where were the fishermen, the tiny villages that cluster about the houses of the rich? Even more telling: none of those well-built stone and wood stately homes had fires burning in their many chimneys. 

:There's very little wildlife here,: Xavier said, confirming Erik's suspicions: the rich that had lived here had fled ahead of the war, and the poor had either been conscripted or killed. 

"I'll go and set some snares, then," said Hank. He'd been happy to walk beside Xavier and Erik, and had been doing much of the foraging for the three of them. "If the game is sparse, we'll need to be careful." 

"This used to be rich men's hunting grounds," said Erik. "What the hell happened here, that the people and the game have fled? If it were war, there'd be carrion-eaters: birds, foxes, wolves." 

Nobody bothered to mention the fish. From Hank's tales of bodies washing down the river, even though the lake appeared peaceful, none of them wanted to eat from it. Erik was glad they'd been boiling their water; he'd learned the hard way what bodies in your drinking water can do to you. 

That night, they camped in the roofless remains of a fishing hut. Erik filled the kettle from the lake, and Hank set it to boil in the stone fireplace, which was still standing. The two of them sat by the fire, and watched Xavier cropping the grass while the water boiled. The sun set quickly up here with no birds to herald the coming night, thought Erik. His skin crawled at the thought that Schmidt could be watching the same sunset. 

Xavier's white nose pushed against his shoulder and he jumped. "Don't sneak up on me. Just because you can doesn't make it funny." He was more aware now of the way the Mind Bond could be used to alter perception, mostly because of his own frantic efforts to create privacy from Xavier's constant presence in his mind. 

: _He hides more from you than you realise_.: 

Erik jumped. The voice was silky and low, and he wasn't entirely sure it wasn't his own treacherous thoughts, the inner voice that railed against the idea that he might have made an ally in the Companion. Perhaps this was some part of the Mind Bond fading? 

:Erik?: said Xavier, and this time, he nudged gently at Erik's shoulder. :I'm so sorry to startle you.: 

Erik shook his head, and batted at the Companion's muzzle. "You're an idiot. All that ability, and when it comes down to it, you're just a bookish buffoon." 

: _That power is wasted on him_.: 

Erik snorted. This was entirely true; Erik would use those Mind Speaking skills to a far better end than simply finding one person and clinging to them like a burr.

:Do I really cling? I'm sorry,: said Xavier. :It can be difficult to adjust to sharing a connection with another entity. If I'm crowding you, I can sleep outside.: 

Erik looked up; the hut they were using as shelter tonight was completely roofless. "Xavier, this is outside. Don't be silly, come and sleep by the fire." 

That night, Erik's dreams were scatty and disrupted. He dreamed he was standing in the centre of the hut, and his vision was oddly faceted, as if seen through a crystal vase. When he woke, he was standing at the edge of the waterline, ankle deep in thick fog that glowed faintly green. 

"Xavier!" He moved carefully away from the water. "Xavier, wake up! Something's happening!" Who was supposed to be on watch? He couldn't remember; his mind was addled, thick and slow to respond. 

:Erik!: Xavier's hooves thudded on the grass, and as he galloped to Erik's side, the fog swirled, cut into ribbons by his leg. 

As soon as Erik felt a warm shoulder brush him, he caught hold of a handful of mane and vaulted onto Xavier's back. He crouched low over Xavier's neck, and held on as Xavier thundered away from the water. 

:I can't wake Hank,: Xavier said, frantically. :This fog, it interferes with my Mind Speaking.: 

"It's coming from the lake," said Erik. "Schmidt must be out there." 

Xavier climbed as high as he could on the grassy meadow by the lake, until they were standing clear of the fog. Fingers of greenish mist reached out for them, and Xavier danced nervously out of reach. 

:This is the reason there's so little life in the lake,: said Xavier. :Whatever Schmidt is doing, he must be on the water. Erik, he must have a ship.: 

Erik closed his eyes and extended his hand. Whatever magic had created this fog, if Schmidt had a ship, then his ship had nails. He reached for the familiar pull of wrought iron, the interlocking bends of an anchor chain, and when he found that place, he smiled. "You may be the Smith," he said softly, "But I know metal, and I will find you." 

:How deep do you think the water is out there?: Xavier took a tentative step into the fog, and another, taking them closer to the water's edge. 

Erik jumped to the ground and called his knife to him, all the way from the fishing hut where Hank slumbered in unnatural sleep. "Too deep for you, Companion. Go, try to get Hank out of the fog and into the clear." 

:Erik, how will you get out there?: There was a sense of growing dread in Xavier's words. 

"I'll swim. And when I've killed Schmidt, I'll swim back." Erik took the knife between his teeth, kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his tunic. In his breeches, with his knife in hand, he waded into the lake. 

When he was waist-deep, Xavier plunged in behind him, legs cutting through the water. :I can't let you go alone.: 

Erik moved deeper into the water. "Don't be a fool; Red Stag Lake is miles across. What happens when you get tired? You're not a man, Xavier, I doubt that you float like one. I can swim." 

:But you'll be so far away, if something happens.: The water was up over Xavier's shoulders by now, and in the eldritch glowing fog, Erik could see Xavier's eyes: wide and white with panic. 

: _He's a danger to you. He'll be a stone around your neck, he'll pull you down with him._ : 

Erik gathered his will, and focused it with his mind. :GO BACK TO THE SHORE!: He forced the thought at Xavier along the threads of the Mind Bond. With a pinch of satisfaction, he saw the great head flinch in shock.

He softened the command with reassurance. :Go back to the shore, Xavier. See to Hank. Wait for me. These are the right things to do, these are the strategic things to do. Listen to me, I have the experience here.: 

Xavier's pace faltered, just as the lake bed dropped away underfoot. :Be careful, Chosen. Please return to me. I will be listening.: He turned, and wallowed out of the water. When Erik heard his hooves clattering on the stony shore, he dived under the water and let the metal pull him towards the Smith. 

It was not a difficult swim. Erik had learned to swim in rivers, and lake water was comparatively calm. Underneath him, though, strange currents swirled and pulled at his legs, sometimes pushing him upward, sometimes carrying him further than he expected. And always around him, there was the fog, green and sickly, reflected in the still surface of the water. His lungs seized for a moment when he realised that he must be breathing the stuff in, but after a moment of sputtering, he realised he didn't care. Whatever it was, it meant nothing. Nothing mattered but the Smith. 

A shadow loomed up against the glowing mist, and he sunk deep in the water to peer up at it. A great wooden hull sat deep in the water, marked with the name 'Caspartina'. The ship was closer than he expected; it must have crept close to the shore under the blanket of fog. Erik's stomach clenched, and he reached for the anchor chain, solid and dripping with algae, reassuringly real. Hand over hand, he climbed up out of the water until he reached the railing. Then he was over it, quick as an eel sliding over the wood, crouching low against the side. 

He could hear low conversation from the aft of the ship, and he crept closer to it, knife in hand. When he saw Schmidt, he was glad he'd left Xavier far, far behind on shore, because shamefully, for one moment, Erik felt a wash of fear.

The Smith hadn't aged at all, and somehow this was no surprise. He sat calm and relaxed on a bench on the quarterdeck beneath a lantern, a book propped on his knee, and the reading glasses he had always worn almost at the end of his nose. From time to time, he glanced at the stern, where a young man stood with his hands down over the water. At his side, a woman with dark skin sat, draped in some diaphanous shawl that hung to her fingertips. She held a goblet but showed little interest in the contents. 

Schmidt's proprietary gaze made their relationship clear to Erik. Hate boiled up in his throat. The Smith hadn't stopped his project to forge magic from gifted children. He stepped out from the shadows, knife held low. 

"Father Smith," he said in that careful, unaccented Hardornen that Schmidt impressed upon his charges. 

The man with long hair wheeled, hands raised, and the woman jumped upright, her shawl fanning out into the long wings of a dragonfly, but neither acted. Their deference to Schmidt was nauseating. Erik hoped he didn't have to kill them. 

Schmidt didn't even bother to rise. He turned in his chair and peered up at Erik with that patronising smile. "Little Erik, is it? How peculiar." He closed his book, and reached for a medallion at his neck. Before Erik could threaten him, force him to stand still, that silken voice appeared in his mind. 

: _I'm so very sorry, dear, but I'm going to have to hurt you or he won't believe anything I tell him._ : 

Needles cut into Erik's skin. When he was a boy, Schmidt had used glass instead of steel, for fear the steel would spring back at him, and this was the pain that Erik felt now, all over his body. He fell to the ground, useless and panicking. In that place where Xavier's presence always hovered, he felt shock and outrage.

:Xavier! No, don't watch this!: Erik couldn't move, so instead he tried to shield the Mind Bond from the memories that this voice was calling up. In his memory, Schmidt forced his eyes open, and took the little glass knife in hand. Erik's mind drifted, and he felt the pull of Xavier's body, strong and fierce as it thundered along the edge of the water. There! There was safety and respite from pain.

: _Now, now, don't retreat._ : The voice was cruel, feminine, and very different from the Smith's. 

: _That's because I'm not the Smith,_ : she said. : _He thinks I'm a tool of his, something he can wield, a magic sword or a navigational instrument, but he's a fool._ : 

:Who are you? What are you?: Erik gasped as his body writhed in agony on the deck. Above him, he sensed Schmidt standing over him, watching with that dry curiosity, the same expression he used when reading, when torturing, when ordering soldiers to kill Erik's family. 

: _Oh, I have lots of names,_ : said the woman's voice. : _Schmidt calls me 'Frost' and hangs me on a chain. He's more alarmed than he would ever show,_ : she added, with a sly tone. : _He thought you dead, and was glad of it. You were the strongest of his children, and he always knew he couldn't control you._ :

:I don't want you in my head! I don't want anyone in my head!: It was too much - the pain, the unwanted contact. Erik was beginning to panic. He heard the pop of a rivet, the rush of water. He was calling metal, and the metal was holding up the ship. 

: _But that's what I want to talk to you about._ : Frost's voice was full of delight. : _Your big angry horse has been lying to you for weeks. That Mind Bond he says is going to fade - it never will. It's forever, because he wills it. But if you help me, if you get me free of this maniac, I can break that bond for you. You don't want to be chained to that freakish thing and his zealot friends. Do you want me to take it away?_ : 

:Make it stop, make it stop!: Erik didn't know if it was the pain he was talking about or the Mind Bond. His vision was beginning to grey out, and he just wanted everything to end. 

: _Here. I'll show you._ : 

Everything went black. Somewhere, a long way distant, over the lapping waves, Erik heard an animal screaming. 

It was an odd, empty feeling to find that place in his mind silent and dark. Erik opened his eyes and saw an ordinary sky. Schmidt stood watching him, head tilted, assessing. Behind him, that young man with the dark hair waited, hands stretched in Erik's direction. The woman fluttered a foot off the deck, her mouth pursed as if she were about to spit. 

"And are you completely collected, young Erik?" Schmidt crossed his hands in front of him, once again the priest he so often pretended to be. "Such disarray of person, it's most unbecoming. There's no need for that kind of behaviour." 

Erik moved his arms, and felt the clink of metal. All around him lay the tiny fragments of metal he'd called to him: bolts and rivets and tin coins, outlining his body as in some children's game. His mind was empty; when he sat upright, he swayed with nausea, probing the place in his mind as a tongue investigates a missing tooth. The place where Xavier had existed now was raw and horrible. You idiot, he thought, you're a coward, you're nothing, you destroy everything that is good. And the person that had made Erik this way was standing in front of him. 

"My diamond tells me you're here to kill me." Schmidt reached for the chain around his neck, broke it, and let the silver puddle at his feet. "I don't think I'll be keeping her close to my throat while you're around." He opened his palm, and Erik saw a diamond there, as big as a peach and cut to resemble a heart. 

Schmidt had removed the chain but he'd forgotten the setting. Erik flexed his hand, and the metal around the diamond shivered. 

"Now, now, little Erik," said Schmidt, untroubled. "Do you think I don't know the world is filled with sticky-fingered little thieves? Frost carries a curse to protect her from theft. How many times must you be told, little Erik? You. Do. Not. Steal. From. Your. Betters." 

Each word was punctuated by a flash of bright light from the diamond, and each was a lash of heat. Pain had long ago become a focus, though, and it cleared the fog in Erik's mind. He reached out – not for Xavier, that pretence of happiness was finished now – for metal, anywhere, that he could call to hand to destroy Schmidt. If this was where Erik died, then he would die doing one good thing: ridding the world of this monster who made monsters. 

\---

"This way," Irene pushed Destiny left with her knees, using her arms to fend off branches as they rode through the low hanging brush that lined the lake. "Hurry. Raven, keep up."

Raven's horse was exhausted; he tripped and stumbled over the rough ground, and if it weren't for Armando crowding him from behind, the poor thing would have given up long ago. They were cutting through uncleared forest in order to save time, and had been riding hard for an hour now, even since Alex had cried out in amazement, pointing at the sky. Sheets of green light splashed across the night, punctuated with bright lines of white. When he described it for Irene, she had cursed and urged Destiny into a gallop. 

They burst out of the trees onto grassy turf, and found Xavier lying prone, half submerged in the lake. A brawny boy cradled his head, keeping it above the lapping water. Far off on the lake, the light show continued, and all around, an eerie fog lay low on the surface of the water. 

Raven leapt from her horse, and ran to the water's edge. "Xavier! Xavier, what happened?" She looked behind her, but Alex and Armando galloped right past them. 

Raven glared at the boy holding Xavier's head in his lap. "What did you do to him? What kind of Chosen are you?" 

The boy flinched. "I'm not his Chosen. His Chosen, or whatever you call him, is out there." He nodded towards the lights. 

Raven crouched by Xavier's side, stroking his face. "It's all right, come on, Xavier, it's me, I'm here!" 

Xavier's eyelids fluttered, and he moaned, low and terrible. His legs twitched in the water, back and forth, as if he were swimming.

"He had a fit," said the boy. "He screamed and ran into the water, then he went down shaking." His voice was wobbly, and his teeth were chattering with cold. 

A warm hand gripped her shoulder. "Destiny says Xavier is in shock, that serious damage has been done to the Mind Bond between him and his Chosen." Irene frowned, listening. "She says the bond was not strong to begin with, that there seems to have been resistance to allowing the bond to grow." 

Raven looked out to the lake. Over the water, light flashed and lit up the night. There was a ship out there, but the angle of the deck was odd, angled into the water. 

"I think it's sinking," said the boy. "Erik's out there, fighting the Smith. I didn't know what to do." He stared at Raven, and his face was helpless and miserable. "I couldn't help both of them, and Xavier was drowning. I got him as far on shore as I could." 

"You did very well, and now we're here to help you." Irene turned in a circle, listening hard. "Have Alex and Armando found the boat yet?" 

"There's no boat," said the boy. "Erik checked in the ruins."

Raven spotted Armando and Alex cantering over the rocky shore. Alex had lashed something to his Companion like a carthorse, and it bounced behind them over the stone. When they drew closer, she saw it was a leather coracle, bound on a timber frame with rope. 

"It was right where you said it would be, " said Alex. "Covered with sand, under a tarpaulin." He leapt from Armando and cut the small craft away with a knife.

"Get it in the water," Irene said, shortly. She had a sword drawn, held comfortably and competently in her hand. Raven knew by now that Irene could wield it perfectly well in close quarters, relying on sound and bursts of precognition to have the blade in the right place at the right time. 

Alex and Raven ran the little vessel into the lake, and Alex jumped up before the water got too deep. Raven hesitated, and the two of them looked dubiously at the boy holding Xavier's head up. 

Irene sheathed her sword and sat down in the water next to the boy. "Get in the boat, Hank. I'll keep Xavier safe." Her voice was low and strong, filled with authority, reinforced by her Herald Whites. Hank cringed again, but scrambled upright, and waded into the water, lifting his body into the boat lightly, as if he had experience with such things. 

"Xavier's Chosen is in danger," said Irene, as she settled Xavier's head comfortably in her lap. Armando and Destiny walked carefully into the water, each flanking Xavier's body. "But you need to attend to the prisoner in the hold before the ship goes down." She tilted her head. "Raven, get in the boat." 

"I'm not going," said Raven. "I'm staying with Xavier." 

"Go!" said Irene. "You can't help him – we can. Go to the ship, and remember what I told you about the future. You need to be there for the right choices to be made." 

Raven stood in the water, helpless. Xavier had always been there when she was terrified, when she felt alone. 

:Go,: said Armando, more gently than Irene. :We will care for him.: 

Raven bit her lip and turned away. It was difficult to hoist herself into the boat without tipping it, but Alex pulled her aboard in an ungainly scramble. She settled herself on the seat and picked up her paddle, dipping it in the water experimentally. She'd never been in a boat in her life. 

Beside her, Alex did the same. "So, it's Hank, is it?" 

The sturdy boy nodded miserably. 

"I'm Alex, this is Raven. Irene's the Herald, and there's Destiny and Armando." Alex cut the water with the blade of his oar. "And Hank, I really hope you can steer this thing or we'll be going in circles while that ship goes down."

Paddling was harder than Raven expected; after all, wasn't it just dip and pull? She'd seen people on the canals in Haven do it that way. But the paddle quickly became heavy, and sometimes it twisted in her hand. She soon found that if she and Alex didn't pull at the same time, the little boat wriggled and dipped on the water. 

Hank watched them, incredulous. "You need to stroke at the same time. How can you not know how to paddle a boat?" 

"Is steering any easier?" asked Alex. His face was red with effort, and his breath came short. 

Hank shook his head. "You'll go in circles if you're not careful. Or turn yourself around and row to shore." 

"Then shut up," said Raven. "Unless you've got any tips." 

Hank sighed. "All right, when I say 'stroke', you should be dipping your paddle. Ready? Stroke." 

The boat levelled out and started to glide forward at a good pace. Soon, Raven's hands were sweaty, and the paddle slipped, splinters dug into her skin. "Oh, hells with this." She slipped into her blue form. It was too much effort to maintain an illusion _and_ row.

Hank gave a little squeak of terror, and Alex missed his beat. He snarled at Hank, and Hank, in a whisper, took up the count again. "Stroke. Stroke. Stroke." 

"What are we going to do when we get there?" said Raven. Every conversation was punctuated with short breaths. "We need a plan." 

"We get aboard," said Alex. "A quick recce. Prioritise the hold; it's the lowest point on the ship. Then this Chosen - what's his name?" 

"Erik," Hank supplied between strokes. 

"Well, then, Erik is the next priority. Raven, you scope out the deck, see what the situation is. I'll get the prisoner down to Hank, here, and join you." 

Raven nodded as she paddled. "You're going to make a great Herald, Alex." 

"Yeah, thanks." Alex bumped her knee with his. "You're not so bad, yourself." 

Hank watched them warily. "You people frighten me," he said. "And we're coming up on the ship." He stood up, leapt neatly over the top of Alex and Raven's heads, and put his hands out to stop the coracle from bumping into the hull. 

Raven could hear the water rushing into the ship. The timbers groaned with it, and the eerie green fog swirled around the points where the timbers had sprung free from the frame of the hull. She shifted into the form of a lean-bodied man dressed in ragged clothes, the best approximation she could think of for the kind of person who might crew such a vessel, and then she climbed the hull. It curved outwards, but it was no more difficult than some of the buildings she had scaled in Haven, and considerably less slippery than marble, despite the algae. She felt Alex's head bump her heels as she climbed, and she showed him the best places to grip. They both slithered onto the deck, just as a great rush of wind pummelled their bodies, forcing them against the guardrail. No shouts or warnings were issued. The only sound she could hear, above the roaring wind, was a man screaming.

Alex tugged at her sleeve and nodded towards a hatch in the deck. She nodded, and gripped his elbow to wish him luck, then she moved alongside the cabin to the rear of the ship. 

The wind that had gusted along the narrow corridor between the guardrail and the cabin was coming from the hands of a tall man. Raven raised her eyebrows at the sight, but she'd seen stranger things since she'd left Haven. The moving air, which had seemed so strong before, was even worse here. The man was using it as a weapon, driving another man towards the railing, like the wind sweeps a leaf along a path. Raven crouched, eased a dagger from her boot and flipped it, holding it by the blade. There were three men on the deck: an older man with spectacles, the young man with power over wind, and the man he directed this power at. This last one was lean and sharp-edged, his face bleak with despair. If one of them had to be Xavier's Chosen, it must be surely be this one. He was the one who was in danger. And more telling, he was the one with blood splashed down the front of his shirt and crusted around his mouth and nose. Raven had lived around Companions and their Chosen for a long time, and she'd seen most permutations of Mind Bonds and their effects. Whatever had happened to Xavier had caused great shock to this man, too. She made her decision and shinned up the side of the cabin, where the air disturbance was the least. There, she balanced the knife, and sent it spinning end over end towards the man with the wind power. If everything went right, and if practice paid off, it should have caught him in the shoulder, providing enough of a distraction that the wind stopped or changed. 

It didn't. Instead, it flew straight to the hand of the man with the blood nose, then for the throat of the bespectacled man, who reached out lazily and batted the knife away. Raven stared: it could be the wind, she supposed, but the knife had changed direction mid-air, and that seemed unlikely. She ducked, expecting everyone on deck to turn towards the source of the knife, but they didn't. 

The spectacled man spoke in a patronising tone, gesturing at Xavier's Chosen. He was speaking Hardornen, so Raven could only catch a few words here and there, but she agreed with Xavier's Chosen, who narrowed his eyes and stared in bloody fury at the man with the spectacles. 

"Hsst!" A soft sound came from the deck below. It was Alex, and slumped against him was a boy around their age. A huge metal and wooden contraption was bolted onto his head, a branks. 

"Help me get this off," whispered Alex. "I figure it wouldn't be there, if this kid couldn't do a heck of a lot of damage." 

The boy, pale and skinny, nodded frantically, gesturing at his mouth. 

Raven slipped down beside them, and found herself standing ankle deep in water. "We'd better hurry," she said. "And whoever you are, you'd better not just be really foul-mouthed." She worked on one side of the device with her dagger, while Alex turned the tip of his dagger in the notch of a screw on his side. 

Something fluttered down beside Raven with a familiar dry rustle. Raven saw Alex's eyes widen and she spun to see Angel standing on the deck, in a fine silver gown, wings unfurled. 

"Raven, I assume that's you. I recognise your butcher boy face." Angel smoothed her gown with one hand. "Tell your Herald to put his little knife away." She stood, tall and confident, far from the barmaid Raven had trusted. 

Raven's heart sank, as pieces fell together. "These are the people you were reporting to? Do you know what they're doing? They're killing Xavier!" She thought of all the things she'd ever told Angel about Companions and Heralds. "Did you find out how to hurt him through me?" Outrage made her voice shrill. 

Alex advanced on Angel with his dagger, and Raven instinctively put out an arm to stop him. "No, don't – she was a friend, once." 

"Raven," said Alex, a soft warning. "We only have so long till we're discovered." 

Angel nodded. "He's right. You have until now." She tipped her head back. "Over here! Intruders!" 

"Why?" said Raven, appalled. 

"Because you're going to be caught anyway, and I'm not jeopardising my position here." Angel rolled her eyes. "Schmidt! There's people here!" She edged away from Alex and the dagger. 

"What is going on here?" The bespectacled man appeared around the side of the cabin, and stood, amazed, hands spread as if he had come across a delicious feast. He spoke in Tradespeak, his accent broadly Hardornen, but easy to understand. "My goodness, are you children enacting a rescue? How very droll." 

Alex pushed the skinny boy behind him, and enacted the kind of writhing twist that engaged his powers. 

"Damn it, Alex!" Without Armando to focus the power, anything could happen. Raven braced herself and the boy against the cabin wall, waiting for explosions or fire or who knew what. Angel clearly expected something destructive, since she lifted into the air away from Alex's trajectory. 

The red rings of energy ripped through the air, surprisingly well targeted, for Alex. They slammed into the man's body, but instead of tearing him to pieces or setting him on fire, the man closed his hands on the rings, pulling them into his body. 

"Fascinating," he said, rubbing his fingers together as if assessing the quality of a bolt of silk. "Shall I show you what happens when someone uses magic on me?" 

Raven was about to pull the three of them overboard, when the branks fell apart in her hand, the iron bolts squirming away from the wood grub-like. The boy spat out a sodden length of linen, gagging and coughing. 

"No, Father Smith." It was Xavier's Chosen, Erik, and he leaned against the cabin, exhausted but upright. "I think, perhaps, the children should show you what they do when someone threatens them." 

The skinny boy stood up, spat on the deck and took in a deep breath. 

Father Smith paled. "No, don't be foolish!" He flexed his fingers in their direction but before anything could happen, the skinny boy's mouth opened, and the air shimmered. 

Raven didn't realise at first that this was sound. The shimmering wave bounced through her body, shaking her teeth and bones, and tingling her skin. Afterwards, as the wave moved along the ship, she heard the noise, so shrill and penetrating that her ears quickly turned numb and woolly from it. Pieces of wood rained down on her, and the boards between her feet, already damp with the rising waterline, split and parted. 

Father Smith pushed past Xavier's Chosen who slid to the deck as if his legs no longer held him upright. The man reached for the Smith's arm, to drag him down with him, but the Smith shook him off easily. Something slipped from the man's robes, though, something that gleamed in the lantern light as it skittered over the sloping deck. The Smith and Erik both lunged for it, too slow, but before it could vanish into the dark water, a silvery shape flew past on thrumming wings and snatched it up. The Smith sneered and delivered a sharp kick to Erik's midsection, then ran aft over the buckling deck. At the rear of the ship, the dark-haired man eased a lifeboat to the water with a rope. The Smith stepped into the boat, and gestured for the man to follow him. 

Xavier's Chosen clambered upright and staggered after them, as the ship broke up under his feet. The man cursed, and stumbled onward towards the lifeboat that slowly descended towards the water. 

"Wait!" Raven gasped. Her ears throbbed and her voice sounded strange inside her head. Disorientation from the ship lurching in the water combined with nausea from whatever weapon the skinny freckled boy had used, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to paddle to shore. And this man, who probably felt just as bad or worse, just got up and kept going. 

He looked back at her with a questioning expression. 

"Xavier needs you," she said. "Please, he's dying. Please come and help him." Angel no longer mattered; Irene was right. There were choices to be made, and she would not allow herself to regret them. 

The man, Erik, glanced towards the Smith, descending from the deck on pullies that faltered. 

The shape of the young man she was wearing melted away, and she stared up at him, unbelieving. "He Chose you," she said. "You must be worth it, if he Chose you." 

The deck tilted beneath them, and water lapped at Raven's knees. Great timbers groaned and snapped, and the mast toppled slowly into the water, streaming sails and rope behind it. Erik cast one more glance at the Smith, then reached for her hand. Raven squeezed it hard, then pushed him along the flooded deck towards the others. The last thing she saw before the spine of the ship broke was Erik and Alex hauling the prisoner into the coracle. Then water swept her away and under the surface. She opened her mouth to scream a warning, but a ragged plank caught the side of her head and the lake swallowed her up. 

Someone was towing her, an iron-tight grip on her shoulder as her body slipped through the water. Raven coughed up foamy lake water and flailed for freedom. 

"Stop it!" Angel's voice was strained. "You're not light, and I don't think my wings can handle another dive." 

Raven grimly forced her eyes to focus long enough to see Angel above her, with wings a blur and one arm stretched down to keep Raven's head above the water. "What happened?" 

"The ship broke up, and you stopped a plank with your stupid thick skull," Angel said. "Not quite thick enough, as it turns out." The diamond hung around her neck, unglamorously threaded on a piece of string.

Raven put fingers to her scalp, despite the white needles of pain. Close to one temple, there was a spongy spot that oozed blood and sent sparks of light through her eyes. She desperately wanted to throw up. "Why are you helping me?" 

Angel made an angry noise, and threw herself forward harder. They were slowing down, and Angel's breath came in short gasps. "Because. I don't. Want you. To die." 

"You gave us to that monster!" Raven would have shouted but her voice wouldn't obey. 

"I'm coming up on your friends now. Can you give them a signal so they don't shoot me?" Angel's toes skimmed the water now, and they were travelling much more slowly now. 

Raven put her arm in the air, hand open and fingers spread wide; Alex would know her blue skin and hold off any attack. It was a good thing that Angel thought of warning them, because as they drew up to the coracle the air swarmed with nails and shrapnel. Raven tried to remember why that didn't seem odd, but her head hurt so much now that she could barely concentrate. Behind her, she saw Alex and Hank balancing oars and the prisoner from the hold of the ship. There was no more room in the boat, but bobbing beside the coracle, Erik had one hand on the boat and one in the air to control the tiny missiles. Then her head hurt too much and she collapsed into the water. Warm hands caught her shoulders and pulled her upwards to hold her at the edge of the boat, and Angel let her go. Before she could soar away, Raven reached for her hand and held it tight. 

"Don't go to him. Please, Angel, I know you're a good person. Stay with us." 

Angel shook her hand free, and moved further up. "I don't want to be in anyone's war," she said. "I just want to be safe." 

"You won't be," said Erik – Xavier's Chosen, Raven reminded herself with woolly thoughts – "Schmidt's point of view is very seductive, and before you know it, you'll be deep in his plans." 

Angel laughed, a free and happy sound, despite the situation. "Talk to Raven; she'll tell you I don't let men push me around anymore. I told you. I'm going to find a safe place at last." She took in the battered coracle, and the bruised and tender people in and around it. "This is not a safe group of people. Take care of yourself, Raven." She dipped and turned, flying over the lake, much higher now that she was free of her burden. 

For a moment, there was no sound at all except the lapping of water against the leather of the coracle.

"I'm going to throw up," said Raven, and was suddenly very glad of Xavier's Chosen, who boosted her out of the water enough that she did not choke. 

\---

There were no words to describe the weariness in Erik's body when he set foot on shore. Water streamed from his body and the tattered remains of his breeches, as he stood, disoriented, on the narrow band of stones that lined the edge of the lake. The place in his mind that he hadn't known he had valued, the place that Xavier lit up when he made his Choice, still lay cold and dim. All around him, people bustled and shouted. The strange blue woman, Raven, knelt on the stones, retching up lake water she'd swallowed. The surly blond man who ordered Hank around like a general seemed to be in the best shape, though blood seeped from both his ears. The best thing Erik could think of to do was to busy himself, so he hooked an arm around the shoulders of the skinny freckled boy with the magic voice and helped him stand. The poor lad had been in the hold of the Caspartina for who knew how long, and Erik knew the measure of Schmidt's mercy with those in his power. 

Raven was watching him surreptitiously, as she clambered to her feet, leaning over to catch her breath. He wanted to apologise to her, but there were no words. If Xavier were alive, if they were still connected in that way, he reasoned, he would feel some pull towards him, some point of contact, but there was nothing. The Mind Bond was, as the diamond Frost had promised, dead. 

Alex, the surly young man, tilted his head as if listening to some far off sound, and with a detached feeling of recognition, Erik realised that someone must be Mind Speaking with him. 

"They're in the hunting lodge at the rise of the hill, all of them," Alex said. He shot a glance towards Erik. "We'd better hurry." 

Raven took Erik's hand - when had he become so accepting of such gestures? - and tugged on it, stumbling over the stones towards one of the abandoned stone buildings Erik had searched in a cursory fashion when he and Xavier had first come to the lake. The thick glass windows now glowed; a fire had been lit inside the building, and smoke floated in thin ribbons from the stacked stone chimney above it. 

He took a step in that direction, felt his knees wobble and fold. The blond boy was behind him in an instant, and Raven, too. The two of them stood either side of him, working as one to give him something solid to lean on as he walked. 

"He's all right," Alex said, as they stumbled over the thick grass and up the low hill. "My Companion, Armando, he's with Xavier now. They got him up and out of the water; he's not walking too well, but Armando and Destiny propped him up between them." 

"I told him to stay out of the water," Erik mumbled. "It was too deep." Xavier was alive. He didn't want to care; he had said all along that he did not belong to anyone. His heart flickered, a soft light that would not listen to reason. Xavier was alive. 

Raven laughed a little, her voice wobbly. Blood still streamed down her head, purple against her blue skin. "You've probably noticed Xavier isn't very familiar with common sense." 

The hunting lodge had huge iron-banded oak doors; Erik flicked his fingers at them, and they swung open, creaking. 

"Handy," said Alex. "I just set things on fire." 

Erik found the breath to laugh at that. This young man had stood fearless in front of Schmidt, and Erik respected that. "There's a time and a place to set things on fire." 

"I agree," said a woman at the open door, she wore smoked glass lenses. "This is neither the time nor the place for arson, Alex." 

"I wouldn't, Irene, I promise. Anyway, Armando is here, now, and he helps me keep it under control." 

"Hm," said Irene. "Raven come here, I want to clean that head wound." Raven protested weakly but staggered in that direction. 

Erik looked around the great hall for the Companions, and found them clustered around the enormous fireplace, like lords and ladies at ease. There was a moment when his mind wondered at the way that three horse-shaped entities with basically the same features could be so very different: neither of the two Companions standing were familiar to him, but the one sitting on folded legs, glowing faintly rosy with reflected light from the fireplace was Xavier. 

He couldn't move for a moment, and leaned his weight heavily on Alex's shoulder. Then Xavier took a deep breath, the kind that he would puff across Erik's head to mess his hair. Erik watched the Xavier's sides heave and the way his head hung low almost touching the hearthstone, and then Erik pushed away from the others and moved across the hall. 

The standing Companions parted to let him closer, though the mare gave him a flat stare of warning that had no need for Mind Speech. Erik crouched down at Xavier's side, and reached a tentative hand for his shoulder. 

Xavier swung his head wearily in Erik's direction, but made no move to stop him.

Erik stroked the sleek pale shoulder. Xavier's body was worryingly cold. "I'm so sorry, my friend. I did not understand, I didn't realise that breaking the Bond would hurt you." 

Xavier pressed his nose against Erik's hand. :It's me who should be sorry, Erik.: The words rolled into his mind, but softly and so distant that if he wasn't right in front of Erik, he would have thought Xavier far away. :I have muddled things dreadfully. I gave you no choice, I deliberately misled you, I put you in danger. I think, perhaps, that what happened on the ship was for the best. I am not fit to Choose. There should be a choice; you were given none.: 

Erik remembered the feeling of Xavier's body, fierce and furious, galloping along the shoreline while Frost tortured Erik on the Caspartina. "I knew as well as you did that the Mind Bond wasn't going away; I had as much opportunity as you did to talk about it with you before it was tested." He stroked Xavier's muzzle, where the skin was very soft and velvety. "I think, perhaps, I hid behind my outrage because I didn't want you to leave. Now that I understand it better, do you think we could try it again?" 

Xavier shook his head. :I will not Choose again. I do not trust my own gifts, I will never know if I am overwhelming you with my will.: 

"Ah, then, I have an easy solution." Erik knelt down in front of him, and cradled Xavier's head in his arms, stroking the long cheek and pressed his lips once to the hollow above one eye before he spoke again. " I am Erik, and you, Xavier, are my Chosen. Out of all the world, out of all the seeking, I have found you, brother of my heart. You are mine and I am yours and never again will there be loneliness."

This time, when the Mind Bond formed, Erik felt it sink home with a deep, low chime, and he was not afraid. 

\---

Raven sat with her legs dangling over the stone balcony of the hunting lodge, watching the waters of the lake wash over the stony shore. Her head was still soft as a boiled egg, but her vision had returned to normal, and the bruising barely showed on blue skin. Watching Xavier and his Chosen made everything hurt less anyway. 

Xavier walked fetlock deep through the blue water. Erik, draped on Xavier's back, lazily floated glittering pyrite pebbles on the surface, making them skim along ahead of them like water beetles. 

Irene came to stand beside her, and Raven leaned against her shoulder. "Is that how it was for you, with Destiny?" she asked. 

"All dreaminess and sunshine?" Irene laughed and shook her head. "It was the middle of winter, for one thing, and for another, I had never actually touched a horse before. I could barely find the right end of her to talk to. Destiny was very patient with me, for all she's a terrible flirt." 

Raven grinned. "It must be wonderful to feel that trust – for someone to know everything about you and love you for it." Maybe it was the sunshine, or the happiness that radiated from Xavier below, but she felt hope that Angel would one day find that kind of trust, too. 

Irene put her arm around Raven and gave her a squeeze. "It is wonderful. And it's not just Companions and their Chosen that get to experience it, either." 

Down at the lake's edge, Xavier pretended terror, shying violently to the left. Erik gave a bark of laughter as he struggled to remain astride the Companion, then the two of them were galloping. Xavier's hooves dashed through the water, sending spray in all directions, and Erik clung low to his neck, the two of them again moving as one.


End file.
